Ex Animo
by Got Tea
Summary: Absence may make the heart grow fonder, but eventually the need for contact has to take precedence. Sara misses Grissom. Grissom misses Sara. It's time for something new.
1. Chapter 1

after a long absence due to health reasons i'm back with a new story. ethereal theory is on hiatus, pending an overhaul while i refamiliarize myself with the story and its continuation. this story starts after the two mrs grissoms and sees our two geeks venturing off on a new quest. sadly i don't own anything to do with csi... happy reading, reviews are always appreciated.

Exhausted, Sara parked her car in the driveway of her home and leaned her head back against the seat, closing her eyes. In the three weeks since her investigation at the deaf college, she and her mother-in-law had been making a concerted effort to get to know each other and get along. It seemed to be working, reflected Sara, thinking of the breakfast she had just shared with Betty. They had much in common, and Sara's ASL had improved dramatically over the early morning meals they had shared most days since their joint Skype conversation with Grissom. As her thoughts turned to her husband Sara sighed; he had promised yesterday to be home within a week, but as she grabbed her bag and got out of the car Sara wished more than anything that he was home now so she could go inside, shower and crawl into bed with him; snuggle up together and fall asleep in his arms. Putting her key in the lock she listened for Hank's familiar paws scrabbling at the door, waiting for her. When she didn't hear him she frowned and pushed the door open, stepping into the cool air and locking herself in. She ditched her keys, cell and bag on the small hall table and kicked off her sneakers with a relieved sigh. She whistled for the dog, wondering where he was as she wandered toward the kitchen. In the living room the two kittens she had adopted a few weeks ago were sprawled across the back of the couch, fast asleep. Her dog was not in the kitchen so she wandered to the small home office where she had been working the evening before. No Hank. Yawning, Sara headed for the bedroom, pausing when she heard water running. A familiar backpack and pair of duffle bags were dumped rather unceremoniously at the bottom of the bed; a smile spread over her face as she hurried into the bathroom. Standing with his back to her as he stripped off his shirt, Grissom hadn't heard her come in over the noise of the shower.

"Well this isn't quite the welcome home I was expecting this morning," said Sara lightly. Grissom dropped his shirt and spun around, grinning as his gaze fell on his wife. Sara ran the few steps to meet him and wrapped her arms around him as his locked around her, hugging her tightly. When Sara looked up at him, Grissom kissed her soundly, knotting his fingers in her hair as he held her to him.

"I missed you," he breathed, when their lips parted.

"I can tell," replied Sara, kissing him again. "You smell like an airplane," she informed him, wrinkling her nose as she stepped back and unfastened her belt.

"I wanted to surprise you," he answered as he tested the water in the shower. Sara grinned and stripped off her clothes.

"Where's Hank?"

"In the garden. Why are their two kittens in the living room?"

"I didn't tell you I found them?" asked Sara, shocked as she tossed her bra in the direction of the laundry basket.

"No dear, you didn't."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I thought I had. They were abandoned by the grocery store; I couldn't just leave them there. I gave them Shakespearean names because it reminded me of you," she said as she pulled the shower door shut behind them. Grissom smiled softly at her,

"They seem nice and friendly, and Hank likes them."

Sara turned her face up to the hot spray, relaxing. Grissom let his gaze wander slowly over her body as he washed his hair and soaped his body. Then, while his wife shampooed her hair, he massaged shower gel into her skin, kissing the back of her neck as his hands roamed over her shoulders, back and hips. Sara leaned back against him, letting out a happy sigh as the stream of water washed over them, rinsing away the soap. Turning in his arms she pressed her lips to his chest and worked her way up to his lips, where her tongue begged entry to his mouth. Grissom pushed her gently against the shower wall, pinning her there as he kissed her back, passionately. His hands roamed over her torso, caressing her breasts and running over the toned muscles of her back and stomach. Sara locked her arms around him as his lips dragged over her neck, shoulders and further down. Her knees trembled as he kissed the valley between her breasts before returning to lips. Grissom allowed one hand to tease her nipples mercilessly as the other ventured lower, slipping between her thighs. Sara's head rolled back and rested on the shower wall, her eyes closing with a gasp. She plunged her tongue into his mouth as he brought her into another impassioned kiss. Sara groaned deeply as her husband's fingers stroked and probed and then finally slipped inside her, caressing her most intimate areas. Sara let out a soft cry as he brought her to a climax and collapsed against him, into his arms, breathing heavily. Grissom held her close, kissing her softly and caressing her gently as she calmed. Sara slipped her arms around him and snuggled against his chest as her breathing returned to normal. Looking up at him she pressed a soft kiss to his lips.

"I missed you," she whispered into his ear. "Welcome home." Grissom's arms tightened around her for a moment before he turned off the water.

"I missed you more," he returned, grinning at her as he grabbed a pair of towels and handed her one. They dried off quickly and headed to their room.

"Where's Hank?" yawned Sara, stretching out on the bed. Grissom reached over and ran a hand down her smooth side, his finger tips stroking her silky skin.

"Outside, chasing dust devils." Sara giggled at the thought of their dopy dog. "I'd better let him back in," said Grissom. Wrapped in his towel he ran down to the hall to the kitchen back door and let Hank in. The dog bounded over to his basket and dove in; indignant meows sounded as two cats leapt from the bed and stalked off. Laughing he returned to the bedroom and slipped into bed, lying on his side, facing his wife. He told her what had just transpired, still amused.

"Do you like the kittens?" she asked, concerned. Grissom pulled her flush against his body, peppering her face with soft kisses.

"They're lovely," he assured her, playing with strands of damp curly hair that framed her face.

"I named them Romeo and Juliet," grinned Sara; Grissom laughed at her reference to one of their first dates, and the heated debate of the play that had led to their first truly intimate encounter. "Did you work late?" he asked as he ran his lips over her collarbone.

"No, I had breakfast with your mother, again. She's really taking this getting to know each other seriously; I think we've had breakfast together almost every day in the last three weeks, and spent two of my days off together," reflected Sara. "My ASL is getting really good," she gasped, squirming as Grissom worked his lips further down her body.

"That's nice, dear," he mumbled, kissing, licking and tasting his way over her belly.

"So you're finished in Peru?" asked Sara, hissing with pleasure as he flicked his tongue over her nipple. Grissom propped himself up on his elbows, leaning over her and looked down into her face.

"You want to know about Peru now?" he asked.

"No," gasped Sara, "but I really want to kiss you." She raised her head enough to press her lips to his, letting her hands slide down his body. Grissom plunged his tongue into her mouth, pressing her into the pillows and pinning her down as he ravaged her lips and neck. Pulling away from his mouth for a moment she managed to get out, "can't wait any longer."

"Oh good," Grissom forced out, his breathed ragged as he gazed into her eyes, "me either." Their eyes held each others as they joined together for the first time in too many weeks. The depravation of each others' company for so long meant that their time together was not as prolonged as usual, but the intensity was unparalleled. Lying in a tangle of arms and legs, the sated couple curled around each other happily.

"I love you," whispered Sara, shifting so she could gently kiss his lips.

"I love you too," replied Grissom, pulling her against his chest and gazing into her chocolaty eyes.

"Wherever you're going next," sighed Sara, happily, "I'm going with you. I don't want to be away from you any longer."

"I want to be with you too, always," he admitted. "This separation is too hard." He pressed his lips to her forehead, his fingers tracing designs on her arm. "So where do we go from here?" he mused.

"Who wants your skills next?" asked Sara, giggling at the thought of all the institutions who had offered her husband work.

"That depends on what you want to do," he replied.

"That depends on where you want to go," she teased.

"How about Dartmouth College," he suggested.

"The East Coast huh, real seasonal weather. How long for?"

"The end of the winter semester; one of their biology staff is taking emergency leave. I've been asked to cover a couple of her classes and conduct a series of guest lectures."

"When?"

"Starting in a month, if we go."

"Ten months; your mother will have a fit," commented Sara. Grissom stared at her.

"Are you really concerned about that? We can visit her during school vacation if we want to. Or she can visit us. If we go, that is."

"Where would we live?"

"Faculty housing; a small but furnished apartment near the campus and they agreed to medical benefits."

"Ok," said Sara, trying to wriggle even closer to him.

"Ok?"

"Yeah; I only came back to CSI temporarily and I've been here over a year. I want more time with you. I'll find something to do there, and I love the east coast; I went to school there remember!"

"Of course," he murmured, bringing her lips gently to his. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," she replied, kissing him back amorously. Their peace was suddenly shattered when Hank leapt onto the bed, colliding with his owners and nearly knocking Sara to the floor. Grissom grabbed Sara as the dogs' momentum sent her flying. Hank slithered off the other side of the bed in a clatter of claws on the wooden floor. Sitting up, Grissom helped Sara up too, just as Hank attempted a second, more refined, entrance onto the bed.

"Are you alright?" asked Grissom, concerned, as he saw Sara rub her arm.

"Fine," she replied, frowning at the dog. "Down Hank, you know better than that." With a sigh the dog relocated himself to the floor. Moments later the two kittens waltzed into the room and climbed onto the forlorn dog, playing with him. Turning to look at her husband with worry in her eyes, she asked, "We can take them with us, right?"

"Yes, I checked that pets were welcome." Grissom took her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist as she crawled into his lap, facing him.

"I guess I'd better tell Catherine she needs that replacement, and soon," said Sara, linking her arms around his neck as she gazed into her private oceans that were his eyes.

"Yes," agreed Grissom, his hands exploring her body, his lips tracing her collar bone and neck, "but not right now."

"No," concurred Sara, as desire filled her body. Capturing his lips in a fervent kiss, she let a hand slide between their bodies and succumb to gravity. Feeling his immediate reaction she groaned and pressed her hips into his. Feeling her heat against him Grissom shifted, trying to enter her again. Sara smiled at him, that special smile that made his bones feel weak and his desire skyrocket, and moved back slightly, teasing him. He took the opportunity to kiss the milky white breasts in front of him, making Sara moan and writhe in his arms as he swirled his tongue around her nipple before letting go and moving up her torso and neck to her lips once more. She lifted her body without letting go and he shifted so they joined together in their familiar intimate paradise. When their position became too passive for them, Grissom carefully moved them both so they were lying down, his body covering hers. They were slower this time, but no less passionate and loving. When they lay, exhausted, sated and glowing with happiness, pressed together, her head on his chest, his arms holding her too him, Sara realized just how much she couldn't do without him now.

"What are you thinking?" she asked sleepily.

"That I don't want to leave you again." She laughed softly.

"Ditto," she yawned, and moments later so did Grissom.

"Then it's resolved; we stay together," he declared, adjusting the sheets so they were properly covered. They were quiet for a few minutes before Grissom remembered something he wanted to ask her. "Has mother been bothering you about our sex life again?" he asked.

"Not since you gave her a lecture last week. She does keep asking me if she's going to get any grandchildren though," said Sara with a sad sigh. Grissom swallowed as he thought about that painful subject, shifting his arms to cradle her against his body.

"What did you tell her?" he asked, concerned.

"I told her that I don't have an answer to that question," she replied, quietly.


	2. Chapter 2

Sara opened her eyes and yawned. Her head was tucked into Grissom's shoulder, his arm curled around her waist, holding her. Raising her head slightly she saw Hank sprawled across the bottom of the bed, Romeo draped over her hip and Juliet sitting on Gil's chest staring down solemnly into his face as he stared up at her.

"Hi," she mumbled, putting her head back down and closing her eyes again.

"Good afternoon dear." Sara sighed and shifted slightly, deliciously happy to be curled up with her husband in a warm, soft bed. She felt light pressure on her back as Romeo walked up her spine and then pushed his nose into her ear. She yelped and sat up quickly, the kitten slipping into her lap.

"That was cold," she accused, picking him up and tickling him under the chin; Romeo purred and head butted her hand. Sara looked at Grissom and giggled; Juliet stared at him as she rested a paw on his nose and then sniffed his beard. Gil turned his eyes to his wife and raised his brows. Sara scooped up Juliet and deposited her and Romeo at the bottom of the bed with Hank, before turning back to Grissom.

"What time is it?" she asked, stretching.

"Nearly seven," answered Grissom, lacing his fingers behind his head and watching the very enjoyable view as she worked the kinks out of her spine. Relaxing, Sara caught his line of sight and raised an eyebrow at him. "Hey- I've been gone a while, you can't blame me for missing you. All of you," he grinned, catching her arm and pulling her down over his chest. The kissed, slowly and thoroughly, revelling in each others' nearness.

"So when do you let Dartmouth know?" she asked, as he rolled them over and, covering her body with his own, started kissing her neck.

"They called while you were sleeping," he told her, trailing his tongue along the edge of her jaw.

"What did you say?" Sara's eyes closed and she let out a contented sound a little like a purr.

"Yes," he mumbled around her earlobe.

"When can we move into the faculty housing?" breathed Sara.

"Three weeks from yesterday," he groaned, moving down her torso. His body movement disturbed, and then caused, their furry companions at the bottom of the bed to relocate to the corner of the room, disgusted. Sara's back arched when his lips fastened over her left breast. His hands slipped under her back and down; one strayed down the back of her thigh to her knee, and back up around the front. The fingers of Sara's left hand tangled in his hair while her right hand clenched the sheets as her body hummed with pleasure. As his lips moved to her right breast, Grissom slipped his fingers further down her body, stroking her slowly and sensually. When he moved up to face her, Sara mapped the plains of his face with her fingertips, before pressing her lips to his. She slipped her tongue between his lips, tracing the inside of his lower lip, knowing it drove him wild. Hearing a muffled moan, she grinned into his lips and continued to tease him. Grissom forced himself to pull away from her lips before she pushed him over the edge of control. Instead he attacked her neck again, working his way south and resuming his ministrations even further down while his mouth approached his destination. Blissed out, Sara felt her breathing ratchet up another notch when his kisses moved below her bellybutton. The home phone ringing on Sara's night table interrupted them rudely. Sara ignored it at first, as Gil skilfully worked his fingers while still kissing her. But the shrill ringing grated in her ears and she could bear it no longer. She stretched out a hand, scrabbling for the offending device and caught hold of it. In her haste to try and switch it off, she accidentally pressed the answer button just as a moan of desire and approval escaped her and her body arched into Grissom's hand.

"Hello? Sara, are you there?" asked Catherine's voice. Sara cursed and pulled the phone to her ear, gritting her teeth.

"Hello," she force out, her tone somewhat strangled.

"It's Catherine."

"Yeah?" Sara started reciting multiplication tables in her head when Grissom showed no signs of stopping what he was doing to her.

"I was wondering if you could come in an hour early tonight?" asked Catherine, oblivious to what she was interrupting.

"Fine," squeaked Sara, trying to twist away from her husband, who held on to her and grinned evilly up at her.

"Are you alright?" asked Catherine, concerned.

"Yes. Nightmare. You woke me up," lied Sara, biting her lip to keep from making a sound as Grissom slipped two fingers into her aching center.

"Oh, sorry."

"That's ok, I'll see you later," rushed Sara, her voice terribly uneven as Gil found her melting point. Sara hit the end button and then yanked the back off the phone and pulled the batteries out before letting the whole lot drop to the floor. She let out a choking gasp as a powerful orgasm crashed over her and Grissom moved to cover her with his body. Opening her eyes she saw him smiling and felt the pressure against her thigh. They moved together in the dance of lovers long used to each other; her legs moved around him as he eased himself into her. Their initial pace was slow and reverential, but soon escalated as the need to reach their shared goal overtook them. Sara ran her hands over as much of him as she could reach, needing the touch of his skin against hers; Grissom kissed her with every ounce of energy and desire he had ever felt, knowing there was no way he could be separated from her again. When their joint orgasms crashed over them in an earth shattering, all encompassing grip, they clung together, consumed in each other.

Lying together in an exhausted heap they began to slowly regain their bearings.

A soft, "wow," was all she could manage for a while; Grissom simply smiled against her skin and wrapped his arms tighter around her. When they parted, minutes later, and lay side by side, staring at each other, Sara ran a finger over his cheek.

"You will be the death of me," she remarked, amused.

"I can think of worse ways to die," he replied, capturing her hand and kissing her fingers.

"That was beyond incredible," she sighed happily.

"I'd say maybe I should go away more often, except I don't want to be away from you before I come back." He frowned, thinking over his statement. "Did that make sense?"

"I know what you mean," she giggled, "and we'd better not let Cath know you're back for a day or two, or she might put two and two together."

"You mean I'm not really your nightmare?" Sara elbowed him and sat up, her stomach grumbling loudly.

"Funny," she muttered, hunting for one of his old t-shirts and her slippers. Grissom hopped out of bed and pulled on his boxers, following her to the kitchen. As he started to make coffee and dinner she measured out cat and dog food. _'I was wrong'_, thought Sara, thinking back to a conversation with Catherine, and her inadvertent revelation about her married life. _'Great sex doesn't even begin to cover it.'_

Leaving for work that evening was very difficult. For one thing, she could quite happily have stayed in bed. And, as she dressed in jeans and a sweater she noticed her ravaged neck in the mirror; her mouth fell open in disbelief as she saw the marks that very blatantly announced how she had spent her evening.

"Gil," she yelled, as she vanished back into the closet, hunting for a turtleneck sweater to hide the evidence that her husband was back in town.

"What?" he appeared in the doorway, wrapped in a towel. Sara yanked off her current jersey and tossed it aside.

"Have you seen this?" she asked, trying very hard to keep a straight face as she waved her hands at the offending proof of their desire. Grissom looked genuinely taken aback at just how well branded her skin was, but he just grinned and shook his head, his eyes full of mirth as he turned his attention to her lacy black bra.

"Is that new?" he asked. Sara glanced down confused, following his gaze.

"Oh, you weren't supposed to see it yet," she answered, cursing internally at her mistake. "Anyway, that's not my point. We're not teenagers, and I do have to appear professional at the lab, even if they all like to gossip about our love life," she scolded, though she was teasing really.

"Sorry dear," he tried, and failed, to be serious as he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

"You are not," snorted Sara when they drew apart.

"Uh no! What can I say, you're beautiful, brilliant, amazing, enticing and all mine. How could I not want to make up for lost time?" Sara kissed him again.

"You're trying to charm your way out of trouble," she accused, pulling on the turtleneck.

"Is it working?" he asked, with a lopsided grin.

"Not really," she responded, slipping her feet into a pair of ankle boots.

"Why not?" he demanded, hands on his hips, a wicked glint in his eyes. Sara checked her appearance, making sure all that needed to be was hidden, and headed down the hall, Grissom following her. She picked up her purse, phone and keys and turned back to face him.

"Because," she said, giving him a hug and kiss goodbye, "you weren't in trouble to begin with." He laughed and she winked before closing the door and heading to work.

I hope you like it! There is a story in here, I promise. I just had to get this off my chest first, and who can't use a little more geek love? Please R and R, always appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

The halls of CSI were relatively quiet; swing shift weren't known for their exuberance, and Sara noticed more than a few members of the team blearily packing up evidence and shuffling papers on her way to Catherine's office. Sara sat opposite Catherine's desk, drinking from a mug of coffee she had acquired from a brief visitation to the break room after deciding that whatever it was the boss wanted that would take an hour was bound to require an extra dose of caffeine. Catherine herself was absent, so Sara waited patiently, slipping into a sort of meditative trance and reliving the last few hours.

"I need a damn clone to keep track of all this paperwork so I can solve crimes," cried the blonde, marching in and slamming a foot high stack of files down on the table. Sara jumped, almost leaping out of her chair in shock.

"Hello to you too," she said. Catherine dropped into her chair with a sigh.

"Sorry. Thanks for coming."

"No problem. I needed to talk to you anyway."

"You did? Why?"

"You asked first," replied Sara, not sure exactly what she was going to say.

"No, go ahead," said Cath, shifting a stack of papers, looking for something.

"Ok, well, I was just wondering if you might have had any luck with the search for some new CSI's." Catherine looked up, her level gaze falling on the younger woman.

"Am I sensing that yes would be a good answer right now?" she asked. Sara shifted slightly in her seat and took a sip of coffee, stalling.

"Probably," she offered, finally.

"Where are you going?"

"New Hampshire."

"There are bugs there?"

"It's teaching job, at Dartmouth, mostly biology. Some guest lecture stuff too."

"What are you going to do?" asked Cath, leaning back in her chair and taking a mouthful of her own cup of coffee. She wrinkled her nose in disgust at the cold beverage and put the mug down.

"I'm not sure yet, but I'll find something. It's only till the end of the year."

"But you don't want to stay here." Sara sighed, looking for the right words.

"It's not that I don't want to stay at the lab Catherine; I love it here, but I love Gil more." Catherine grinned at her co-worker.

"I'm happy for you, you know that. And I have it covered actually. There are three newbie's starting tomorrow; one for each shift to train, though swing will end up with the one from days eventually."

"Oh, right. Then if I give you two weeks you won't be mad."

"Nope."

"Ok. Can I work with Greg tonight?"

"Yes."

"Can I make a suggestion?"

"Yes."

"Let Greg work with the newbie, give him the responsibility of stepping up to be a teacher. I know he can do it. It would be a good experience for him, and it'll show him you trust him."

"When did you get to be so good at giving advice?"

"I'm just telling you what I see Cath, that's all," shrugged Sara, stretching her legs out in front of her and flexing her feet, wincing when her ankles cracked.

"You're right; it will be good for Greg."

"Hmmm. I want to tell Greg first, that I'm leaving, I mean."

"Sure, he'll miss you. He was really mad a Grissom when you left last time." Sara frowned.

"It wasn't Gil's fault; I tried to stay, I really did, but I couldn't. Not without losing myself and I couldn't let him see that." Catherine sat quietly, attentive to Sara's every word. The brunette was just as good as Grissom when it came to hiding any other facet of herself than her professional side.

"Anyway, that's in the past," continued Sara, draining her coffee. "Anything else?" she asked, smiling at Catherine.

"No. Here's your assignment, I saw Greg in the locker room a few minutes ago."

"See you later," concluded Sara, getting up and leaving the room. She stopped in the doorway of the locker room, leaning against the jam as Greg tied his shoes. "Hey, let's go," she called out. Greg looked up and Sara waved the case slip at him, grinning. "You're mine tonight. You can drive." She tossed him the keys. Greg caught them easily and stood up, raising an eyebrow but following her out.

"What have we got?" asked Greg, pulling out of the parking lot.

"B and E in Henderson, victim is at Desert Palms, broken bones, concussion."

"All right, bring it on."

...

The case was easy, the victim's brother had broken in through the back door, been surprised to find his sibling home and taken a baseball bat to him from behind before cracking the safe to steal jewels from the family inheritance. Reflecting on how the suspect had left his prints and the bat behind, and taken the loot straight to his own home, Sara wondered if she ought to enter him as dumbest criminal of the year in the departmental vote at the next softball game.

"So are you going to tell me?" asked Greg as they stopped at the diner before going back to the lab to write the case up.

"Tell you what?" asked Sara as she spread jam onto a slice of toast.

"Whatever it is you want to tell me."

"Who said I want to tell you anything?" asked Sara, pouring milk into her tea. Greg rolled his eyes.

"Please," he scoffed. "You let me drive, you let me take primary on the case, you've been quieter than normal all evening so far and you came in early and you were talking to Catherine in her office."

"Yeah, ok," sighed Sara, looking at him and feeling guilty. He was her best friend, and working with him over the last year and a half had been wonderful. How could she tell him without upsetting him? "I'm sorry, I just don't know how to say this."

"Where are you going?" asked Greg, a small, sad smile on his face. Sara stared at him. "I can read you like a book, Mrs Grissom; ever since you mentored me to CSI 1." Sara looked down, trying not to give her emotions away.

"Are you at least coming back?" Sara smiled at him.

"We're going to Dartmouth until Christmas. We'll probably be here sometime during the summer break to visit his mother and check on the house and everything. It's not forever, I promise."

"You better send me a postcard to add to my collection," he sighed, teasing her.

"Don't I always?" she asked.

"Yes mam, and I have them all on my refrigerator."

"Are you kidding?"

"No, I like the pictures, and it's a reminder that I want to travel one day."

"Well, we have Skype, which has to been one of the world's best inventions," said Sara, thinking of all the hours she and Gil had spent talking over the internet."

"I'm happy for you Sar, honestly. I'll miss you like crazy but you'll be back."

"Thanks Greg."

"So when's the ceremony?"

"How do you know about that? I only just got the approval a few weeks ago. Grissom is the only one who knows, and he's sworn to secrecy."

"I don't see why, the others will think it's great. And of course you passed; this is you we're talking about."

"I'm glad you have so much confidence in me," laughed Sara, "but seriously, I don't want a fuss. It's not that big a deal."

"Whatever you say," shrugged Greg, knowing a losing battle when he faced one. "So can I come visit you?" he asked, changing the subject. He would have to talk to Grissom when he got back.

"Of course," smiled Sara, "when's your next vacation?" they laughed and toasted friends with their tea and coffee.

...

Sara arrived home relieved that her day was over, that everything had gone ok with Catherine and that Greg was happy for her. She was even jazzed that her case had not involved any fatalities. In the living room a series of papers relating to Dartmouth College were spread over the couch and the coffee table. The kitchen counter had a note from Gil, saying he had taken Hank for a walk to the park. Sara showered and put on her most comfy sweats. The latest issue of Applied Psychodynamics in Forensic Science had arrived the day before, so Sara settled herself on the bed with Romeo and Juliet and began to read.

...

Grissom and Hank wandered through the park, enjoying each other's company after prolonged separation; man and his best friend. Grissom checked his watch after what he thought was a few minutes watching an ant colony and realized his wife had finished her shift over an hour ago. Whistling for Hank, who had gone foraging in the bushes, Grissom headed home, picking up his ambling pace. The house was quiet when they walked in; Hank thundered into the kitchen to his water bowl then thumped himself down into his basket with all the grace of a charging rhinoceros. Grissom kicked off his shoes and hurried through the house, looking for his wife. Sara was fast asleep on the far side of the bed, his side, sprawled out on her front, her head facing the door and her hair curling wildly every which way. The two kittens, he wasn't sure which was which yet, were curled up with her; one draped over her neck and shoulder, the other wedged under her arm, pressed up against her side. Gil lay down on the bed next to her, watching with concern when she didn't even stir. Sara was not by nature a heavy sleeper, and she never came home from work and went to sleep immediately; she always needed time to relax and unwind. Concerned Grissom reached out to touch her forehead, wondering if she was unwell. She muttered under her breath.

"Sara honey?" he asked softly. The kitten on her shoulder yawned and stretched, wiggling to a new, more comfortable, position. Sara opened her eyes slowly and Grissom was alarmed at how exhausted she looked. "Hey," he whispered, stroking her face gently.

"Hi," she mumbled thickly.

"Are you ok?"

"Shattered," she replied, reaching out to him. Grissom quickly stripped down to his boxers and t-shirt and helped her under the covers before crawling in next to her. Sara snuggled against his chest and her kittens redistributed themselves around her.

"How long have you been this tired?" he asked.

"Few weeks," she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder and closing her eyes.

"Haven't you been sleeping?"

"Sleeping and running or walking with Hank. I'm ok until I stop, then I crash." Her voice was a little slurred, and within moments she was dead to the world in his arms. Grissom held her close, breathing in her unique scent, feeling her warm skin against his and letting her slow, steady breathing lull him into sleep with her. She would have told him is something was wrong or she was ill, but he would have to find out if there was anything else the matter when she woke up later. Trying to relax, he pressed his lips to her forehead and closed his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

As it was her night off, Grissom let Sara continue sleeping past their normal wake up time and went into the kitchen to make coffee. He let Hank out into the garden and sat down in the office at his laptop. There were emails from his mother, official personnel at Dartmouth and one from Greg which was label urgent and titled 'open me now'. He opened the last one, intrigued.

'Grissom, Sara told me you're going to New Hampshire and I know that she passed her examination board but she doesn't want to make a big thing out of it, even though it is. She wouldn't tell me when the ceremony is, but I think she should know that we're proud of her. The others don't even know! Anyway I thought that we should have a get together with the team before you go, even if it's just to say goodbye; we'd all like to see you too. Let me know what you think, Greg.'

Shaking his head at the young man's folly, Grissom hit reply.

'Greg, a get together sounds like a good plan; I'm trying to talk her into attending the ceremony. I'll let you know, thanks, Grissom.'

After dealing with the other missives, Grissom emptied his bags from Peru, thinking he would get some laundry done while Sara was sleeping. Hank scratched at the door, wanting to be let in.

"Hey boy," said Grissom, petting the dog and giving him a treat. "How long has mommy been feeling unwell hmmm?" he asked, pulling a burr out of the dog's fur. Hank finished his treat and trotted out of the room. Grissom darted after him, remembering he had left the bedroom door open. He was too late though, and the dog bounded up onto the bed, scattering hissing kittens and waking Sara with a start.

"Hank, down," demanded Grissom. Sara groaned and pulled a pillow over her head. Grissom sat on the edge of the bed and peeled the pillow away from his wife.

"How long has he been doing that? I thought we broke him of the habit."

"Since you've been home," said Sara, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "He has been really good." Grissom smiled at her dishevelled appearance; her bleary eyes and porcupine hair style. She sniffed and stretched her arms and legs. "Can I smell coffee?" she asked, crawling out of bed, yawning.

"You can indeed," he replied, escorting her to the kitchen. Sara poured herself a cup and refilled Grissom's mug while he got out cereal, bowls, spoons and milk.

"What do you want to do today?" asked Sara, sitting at the table, slumped over her coffee.

"Take you to the doctor," he replied, watching her carefully.

"I'm ok," she said, sitting up and draining her mug. "I just need a shower and a second cup of coffee and I'll be fine."

"Of course," agreed Grissom, his voice lightly layered with sarcasm. "How much extra coffee have you been drinking of late?"

"Too much probably," she admitted. "I've just been trying to do too much I think."

"Be that as it may, I still think you should see a doctor," he told her, concern in his voice.

"Ok," she relented, reaching for the cereal.

...

Some hours later they were sat at opposite ends of the couch, their legs intertwined in the middle, filling out the paperwork for Dartmouth. Hank watched from under the coffee table, Romeo had draped himself over Sara's shoulder and Juliet was sitting in Grissom's lap, attempting to help him by batting the papers out of his fingers. Sara scrawled the last line of information on her stack and put them down.

"I win," she announced. Grissom groaned; he had half a page to go! Taking pity on him, Sara scooped up Juliet and played with her until her husband finished his assigned work.

"Ok," said Grissom, dumping the entire collection of paperwork onto the table, "what movie are we seeing then?" As the winner of their contest, she had first choice at the movie theatre.

"The King's Speech," replied his wife, handing him a kitten. "Here, Juliet likes you." Grissom took the squirming ball of silver tabby fur and held her up in front of his eyes. Juliet pressed her forepaws to his nose, meowing. When Grissom reached to tickle her under the chin, Juliet batted his fingers and started to purr. Under the coffee table Hank sighed and put his head on his paws. Sara laughed and got to her feet slowly, twisting to get cramps out of her spine. Grissom followed her to the bedroom and deposited the kitten at the bottom of the bed with her brother before following Sara into the closet to get changed. She still seemed tired, but after sufficient coffee she was awake and going about the day with him. Sara grinned as she straightened from pulling on a pair of jeans.

"I think you have a new admirer," she said to Grissom, who was reaching to the top shelf for his favourite pair of jeans. He looked down and saw Juliet sitting next to his slipper, staring up at him. She mewed pitifully and reached up, placing her front paws on his shin. Sara laughed and put on a sweater, then her jacket and tennis shoes before picking up the kitten so her husband could get dressed. Sara took Juliet to the kitchen and made sure all the appropriate animal dishes were filled. She stuck the note about the doctor's appointment she had scheduled earlier for the morning on the fridge door, before it disappeared. Then she leaned against the counter and closed her eyes, waiting for Grissom. Despite nine hours of solid sleep she was still exhausted; the long weeks of maxing out on overtime and working every hour possible to stay out of the house had taken a serious toll on her. Still, something felt off. Where was her ability to stay up for days on end? To work back to back doubles and triples? She wouldn't admit it to anyone other than herself, but she was looking forward to getting away from the lab and having more time to rest, even though she would miss the people and the work. Hearing Grissom walking down the hall she pushed off the counter and went to join him, shaking off the weariness.

...

The movie was great and when they came out, Grissom with his arm around Sara's waist, they mused about getting something to eat. They stood by a stone pillar outside for a few moments, breathing in the cool night air.

"What do you feel like?" asked Grissom, holding her to him. Sara smiled and kissed him softly.

"Whatever, I don't mind."

"You won the bet, you choose," he insisted, brushing her hair from her face.

"Ok, how about The Queen's Head?" she suggested, naming a pub owned and operated by a couple from England who had immigrated to the US some twenty years ago.

"Sounds good to me," he agreed, holding her hand as they walked to the car. A voice calling out from behind stopped them in their tracks.

"Gil, Sara!" They turned in unison and saw four people walking toward them. Doc Robbins, his wife Judy, Brass and another woman neither Sara nor Grissom knew came to a stop by them. In a matter of moments it was decided that all six of them would dine together. Half an hour later they were all seated in a corner table at The Queen's Head, sipping drinks and talking while they waited for their food.

"So you made it back from Peru, Gil!" noted Brass.

"And I hear you're leaving again," added Al, raising an eyebrow, "and taking Sara with you."

"Yes, we're going to the East Coast," said Grissom, putting his hand on Sara's knee under the table; Sara covered it with her own.

"What were you doing in Peru?" asked Liana, Brass' date, a nightshift co-worker of Judy's at the hospital. Grissom launched into a description of his work, while Judy, seated on Sara's other side, started asking the younger woman about New Hampshire. Talk ranged throughout the meal, from travel to film, hospital work to law enforcement and CSI. Sara watched Grissom talk happily with Al, they had a shared intellectual passions, and with Brass, one of his oldest friends. When they returned to their car for the drive home, Sara asked him,

"Do you miss the lab and the people when you're not here?" Grissom thought for a few minutes before answering.

"Yes and no. It's nice to see people and talk, but I don't miss being there every day. I miss you, always. I thought I would always want to keep solving puzzles, putting criminals behind bars. But I was wrong, travelling has been enlightening. I've learned so much and I still have so much more to learn. But what I want more than anything, is you." He reached over and grasped her hand, bringing her fingers to his lips. Sara, leaning back in her seat, turned her head and smiled at him.

"I guess it's a good thing I like travelling too isn't it?" she asked, "seeing as the same applies to how I feel about you."

...

When they arrived home, chaos assaulted them. A barking Hank bounded through the house in pursuit of a yowling Juliet. Romeo was perched on top of a bookshelf, observing as his sister led the dog on a mad dash through the entire home. Juliet saw her saviour and bolted toward Grissom, crawled up his jean leg and clung to the front of his sweater. Grissom stepped back hurriedly as Hank crashed through the empty space he had been stood in a moment ago. Sara seized the dog's collar and hauled him off to the back door, ordering him outside. She then joined Grissom in the living room, where he was perched on the couch trying to convince Juliet to let go of his clothing. Sara unhooked her claws carefully and then cradled the kitten, soothing her. Grissom sat back and pulled Sara into his lap, tickling the kitten as he wrapped his arms against his wife, holding her against him. They sat quietly for a while, enjoying each other's company and nearness.

"Are you happy about going to Dartmouth?" he asked, abruptly.

"Yes, why?" she was genuinely surprised.

"I just want to make sure you're not doing something you don't want to."  
"Why would you think that?" she asked, linking her fingers with his.

"I don't know, but leaving the lab is a big move for you. What if you can't find something to do up there?"

"Gil it will be fine. I was only supposed to be here temporarily. Sure I'll miss everyone, but there's email and phones and Skype. I'm ready for something new; something with you." She turned so she was lying sideways, able to lay her head on his chest and wrap an arm around him. "Do you not want to go?"

"I do, honestly; I just want you to be happy as well."

"When have I kept something like that from you?" she murmured, playing with the hem of his sweater.

"True," he laughed, running his fingers through her hair. She sighed with pleasure and he began to tell her about his last few days in Peru. It was a while before he noticed that her breathing was light and even, and her eyes were closed in the heavy darkness of slumber. Looking at the cat perched on the back of the sofa by his shoulder he reasoned aloud that he could let her snooze for an hour or so before they had to head out to the doctor's office for the first appointment of the morning. Juliet meowed in response and settled for a nap of her own.

...

I hope you enjoyed it, please R & R


	5. Chapter 5

Sipping coffee from a travel mug, Sara sat next to Grissom in the waiting room at the doctor's office, her hand comfortably wrapped in his. He had insisted on driving her, and she had been grateful for his company. When the nurse called her, Sara squeezed his hand and left him with her coffee. After the official weight, height and vital signs with the nurse Sara sat on the edge of the table, swinging her legs slowly as she waited. A soft knock at the door announced the arrival of Dr. Beth Williams.

"Hello Sara, I haven't seen you in a while," she said, sitting down on a stool, "what brings you in today?" Sara sighed.

"My husband."

"Oh?"

"He just came home from Peru, and he's worried because I've been really tired."

"How so?"

"Well, I've been working a lot, maxing out on overtime, double shifts, sometimes triples. But I've been doing that for years, barely sleeping and I've been fine. Except now I seem to be permanently tired and I sleep like the dead, which I've never done."

"Hmmm, we've talked about your sleep patterns and work before. Maybe you're body isn't tolerating that kind of routine anymore. You were used to a much slower pace in Costa Rica and Europe weren't you?"

"Yes," admitted Sara, "but I've been back here for over a year, and it's only recently that there's been a change."

"Is there anything else?"

"I drink coffee like its going out of fashion, and I'm ok until I stop, but then I crash completely." Sara thought for a moment, then added. "And something feels off; I can't put my finger on it, but something's wrong. I thought it was just that I was missing Gil while he was away, but now I'm not so sure."

"Ok, I want to draw some blood, and do an exam, you're overdue anyway, and see what's going on, alright?" Sara nodded and the doctor handed her a plastic cup. "The bathroom is across the hall, if you just give me a urine sample and leave it on the shelf, then come back here and I'll draw some blood." Grimacing Sara headed for the bathroom.

Beth was good with needles, Sara hardly felt the prick as it pierced her skin, but her head roared and her vision swam as blood rushed into the tube.

"Whoa," she muttered, swaying slightly.

"That's never happened before," said Beth, raising the end of the table and helping Sara lay back against it. She removed the needle and taped a piece of cotton over the puncture mark. Sara gasped, and fainted.

...

Her nose itched, and the lights were too bright. Feeling sick Sara clawed her way out of the darkness and opened her eyes; Beth was standing next to her holding a cup of water and an emesis basin.

"What happened?" groaned Sara, her head aching.

"You fainted when I drew blood."

"Oh," said Sara, unimpressed. She closed her eyes, trying to get her bearings. "Ugg."

"Here," Beth handed her the water; Sara sipped it gratefully, her head clearing. She sat up carefully, breathing slowly and deeply.

"You ok?"

"Yeah, that was weird."

"Do you need help changing into a gown?" asked Beth, running her eyes over her patient.

"I don't think so," said Sara, sliding off the table and standing carefully, testing her balance. She felt weak and sickly, but her legs just about held.

"Ok, put this on then," said Beth, handing her the gown, "and I'll be back in a minute." She left and Sara sighed to herself, she hated this part. Unwinding her scarf she realized her neck was going to be on full display without it; cursing her husband internally she promised him revenge when they got home. Leaving her socks on because it was cold, she put on the gown and sat on the table again, leaning back and closing her eyes, trying to will away her sudden nausea. When Beth returned ten minutes later she found her patient asleep, and snoring.

"Sara," she called gently, shaking her awake.

"What?" asked the brunette, sitting up abruptly, her eyes flying open. "Oh, sorry," she apologised.

"That's fine, I got cornered by one of the nurses." Beth talked quietly as she proceeded, and to Sara's relief said nothing about the marked skin of her neck, though she did emit a tiny smile which caused Sara to blush deeply.

"Ok," said Beth, standing back, "everything seems to be fine to me. Why don't you get dressed again?" She left again and Sara gratefully slipped back into her own clothes, wrapping her scarf very carefully around her throat. She was tying her sneakers when the doctor returned.

"Alright, I see no problems with your exam, but I have a few questions."

"Sure," said Sara, sitting down.

"When was you last period?" Sara started counting in her head and then stopped, unable to remember.

"I don't know," she said at last. "But that's impossible, I can't be..." she trailed off, trying to work it out and failing.  
"It's improbable, but not totally impossible," corrected Beth.

"There's a less than ten percent chance that I can conceive," said Sara, still trying to remember, "and I've always been irregular."

"Ok, let me ask you this, before he got home, when was the last time you saw Gil?"

"Seven weeks ago," said Sara, thinking that they had broken their at least once a month rule when the Peruvian government had asked him to stay on longer.

"Ok, well we tested your urine and you are pregnant." Sara inhaled sharply, her mind going blank with shock.

"Congratulations," said Beth, smiling warmly and clasping Sara's hand.

"I ... I don't ... I can't ... I mean..." Sara gave up trying to speak and tried to wrap her head around what the doctor was saying.

"I think you're further than seven weeks," the doctor told her, "and I'd like to do an ultrasound." Sara nodded, still unable to comprehend the concept. Beth stood up, concerned at Sara's silence.

"Do you want me to get your husband?" Sara nodded.

"Please," she whispered. When Beth left the room, she drew her knees up and rested her chin on them, trying to concentrate when her mind was suddenly clamouring with a thousand thoughts and feelings, each demanding to be heard first.

...

Grissom watched Sara walk through the door with the nurse and sat back in his chair, staring at the coffee mug he held in his lap. Worries assaulted his mind and he twisted the mug around and around in his hands, without even realizing what he was doing. He sat for what felt like an eternity, wondering what could possibly be taking so long, the nightmare scenarios running through his head getting progressively worse as the time passed. Every time the door opened his head snapped up; looking for Sara. When the nurse stuck her head out and called his name Grissom thought his heart would stop. He hurried forward, his grip on the mug making his knuckles white. The nurse left him at the door to room 6. He opened it to find Sara sitting on the table, her expression blank, her eyes unseeing, her arms around her legs, clutching them to her chest.

"Sara," he gasped, running to her. He sat on the very end of the exam table, next to her feet and took her hands in his. "Sara what is it?" She looked up at him, her mind still reeling with shock, her tongue tied all in knots. "Talk to me honey," pleaded Grissom, out of his mind with fright as he took in her clammy skin and uneven breathing. Unable to form words, Sara took hand and kissed it, trying to smile and then let her legs fall into a tailor seat before pressing his palm gently over her belly and staring into his eyes. He held her gaze with his worried blue eyes as realization slowly dawned on him and his mouth fell open slightly in surprise. His expression asked her a silent question and she nodded. Heart pounding, Grissom pulled her gently into his arms and pressed his face into her hair, breathing in her soft scent. Sara clung to Grissom and closed her eyes, feeling tears begin to slowly meander down her face and drop onto his jacket.

...

The customary knock at the door, and then Doctor Williams was back again, this time wheeling a portable ultrasound machine. Sara sat up and wiped her tears away, keeping one hand in Grissom's.

"Are you feeling any better?" asked Beth, pressing two fingers to Sara's wrist and counting as she looked at the large clock on the wall. "You're pulse is almost normal again," she commented.

"A little, yeah," replied Sara, clearing her throat. Grissom frowned, uncomprehending. "I fainted," said Sara quietly. She squeezed his hand. "I'm alright, just shocked." Sara lay back on the table and pulled up her shirt to expose her smooth stomach. Grissom stood opposite the machine as Beth set it up; one hand firmly holding his wife's, the other stroking her hair soothingly as he ran his eyes over her, conducting his own checks of her welfare. Knowing what he was doing, Sara smiled at him.

"Alright, let's have a look then," said Beth, smearing gel on Sara's abdomen and then gently applying the scanner. For a moment nothing happened, then a black and white image appeared on the screen. Gil and Sara watched, transfixed as Beth concentrated, a check list running through her mind. She turned to look at the couple; their expressions were mesmerised mirror images. Beth smiled and pointed to the screen.

"You are approximately thirteen weeks Sara; this is the head, the body, arms and legs. Everything looks perfectly normal right now; I don't see anything that concerns me." She shut off the machine, wiped the gel off Sara's skin and waited while Sara sat up and Grissom settled next to her.

"Ok, I know we talked when you came back from Europe so here's what to do for now. I know you're craving it to stay awake, but lay off the coffee. Drink tea instead, or juice. All the usual things you know about. I want you to obey your body; if it tells you to sleep more, you need to sleep more." Beth spoken seriously, watching Sara. Her patient nodded, listening closely. "Most importantly you need to avoid excess stress, you need to eat regularly, and you need to be very careful at work around any hazardous material. We are going to be monitoring you more carefully than usual, considering your history."

"We're moving to New Hampshire in a month," said Grissom, his arm protectively around Sara's shoulders.

"Then I suggest you locate a medical practise before you go and call ahead to make sure they can fit you in. I'll give you copies of all your records to take with you, and I can help you find a good practise if you need."

"Thank you," said Grissom, seeing Sara was still struggling to centre herself. "Oh, we recently acquired two rescue kittens. I know they've been cleared by the vet, but we weren't expecting this," he told the doctor. Beth nodded,

"We'll test for Toxoplasmosis then. I call with the blood results when I get them." She looked at Sara, who still looked relatively faint and shakily. "Can you stand?" Sara got unsteadily to her feet, shivering. Her vision swam when she moved her arm and the tape over the spot where Beth had drawn blood pulled tight. She swayed, Grissom held her upright. Beth checked her over briskly. "I want you to take the night off and rest, I'll give you a note for your boss," she noticed Grissom's slight reactive movement and guessed what he was about to say. "I'll make sure it has no specific reason on it, you can say what you like. Don't forget your vitamins, and I'll see you in two weeks. Call me if you have any questions or problems."

...

A few minutes later Grissom steered a still dazed Sara to the car and helped her in. Sara rubbed her eyes, wishing the fog would clear from behind them. The movement of the car made her stomach lurch, and when they arrived home she stumbled into the bathroom and threw up. Disgusted, she brushed her teeth and rinsed her mouth repeatedly.

"Time for bed," said Gil firmly, unzipping her jacket and helping her out of it. Sara acquiesced, but insisted on a quick shower to get the feel of the doctor's office off her skin. They settled in bed, her back against his chest. Grissom wrapped her protectively in his arms, flush against his body and pressed a palm to her stomach, imagining the tiny life forming beneath the skin as they succumbed to slumber together.


	6. Chapter 6

Sara woke slowly, the fuzziness that had encased her after her fainting episode gone, but the bewildering shock of the following revelations still cloaking her. She replayed the conversation with Beth, focusing on the picture on the screen of the ultrasound. It all seemed so surreal. Feeling the muscles in her back protest angrily, she rolled over and opened her eyes. An expanse of dark blue material met her eyes. Grissom put down his book and turned onto his side, facing her. She stared at him, her mind trying to catch up to the present.

"Am I dreaming?" Sara finally asked, reaching out to put a hand on his chest, needing the reassurance of his warmth, and his heartbeat under her touch.

"No," he whispered, caressing her face.

"I don't know what to think," she admitted.

"It's ok," he laced his fingers with hers. "I'm reeling too."

"I don't want to tell anyone," she murmured, "not until its safe."

"I agree, not even my mother." Sara nodded and hugged him, suddenly overcome with emotion.

"I can't believe it," she whispered. Grissom sat up and gently pulled her up into his arms. He scrabbled behind him for the book he'd been reading while he waited for her wake up and pulled out the slip of paper he'd been using as a book mark.

"Here," he replied, handing it to her. "Believe it honey, we have proof." Sara stared at the ultrasound print out Beth had given them. Grissom got up and grabbed her robe, "Come on dear, you need to eat."

"Are you going to go all protective on me again?" she asked, standing and stuffing her feet into her slippers.

"Maybe," he replied, grinning at her. Sara giggled and pulled on her robe, following him to the kitchen. "I called Catherine and told her you wouldn't be in tonight."  
"What did she say?"

"She asked me if that was because I had just arrived home and if I was monopolising your time."

"She what?" asked Sara, aghast.

"I asked her when had she ever known either of us to be so unprofessional. And then I told her you were unwell and were following doctor's orders and that she could take it up with you tomorrow night." Sara shook her head and put the kettle on to boil. "What do you want to eat?" asked Grissom, wrapping his arms around her from behind and placing a soft kiss on her neck. Sara craned her head to the side so she could kiss him back.

"Let's make pancakes," she suggested, "we haven't done that in ages." After another quick kiss she walked over to the fridge and pulled out some blueberries, milk and eggs. Grissom went to the pantry to fetch the flour. "Where are the animals?"

"Hank's outside, the kittens were in the office." Grissom mixed the batter while Sara got a frying pan; they worked in the comfortable unison of a couple used to each other's habits, just as they had when working crime scenes together.

"Mmm... these are so good," murmured Sara, a few minutes later as they sat opposite each other munching on their breakfast.

"Good choice honey," he nodded, grinning at her. A scratching sound made them look at the spare chair between them at the square table; a moment later two furry paws gripped the edge of the table and Romeo peered over the top at them, perched precariously on his back legs on the edge of the chair. Sara giggled as he tried to reach for a scrap of paper towel. Grissom inched it closer to the tiny paw, bit by bit, teasing the kitten. Finally Romeo managed to swipe his prize, and it fluttered down to the floor. Romeo pounced and proceeded to bat his new toy around the room with all the energetic glee of a child on Christmas morning.

"They're so cute when they're tiny; remember Hank as a puppy? How his legs were too long for his body?"

"And how he kept running into things and tripping us up?" They laughed at their shared memories, and continued with their meal. Grissom had brewed tea for both of them, knowing that the smell of coffee would have made his wife crave it if he had made some for himself. Watching her now, he noted that she looked more rested, though still somewhat weary. There was more colour in her complexion and her eyes were brighter. A drop of syrup oozed off the bite of pancake she was taking and slipped down her chin; Grissom wanted to lick it off, wrap her in his arms and kiss her, but settled instead with extending his legs under the table and tangling them with hers, for now.

"Are you feeling better?" She nodded, and swallowed a bite of pancake.

"Yeah, still a little tired though. You ok?" Grissom gave her a loving lopsided grin,

"More than, dear. I'm with you."

...

Cleaning up from their meal, Sara put the dishes in the dish washer as Grissom put the ingredients away. His hand slipped as he picked up the flour; it started to fall and he lunged to catch it, but when the bag impacted against his hands it split open. Flour exploded everywhere; it blew back towards him, coating his face, hair, and chest before drifting down to cover his sweatpants and slippers as well. Sara, who had been standing right next to him, bent down putting a bowl back in the cupboard, now had white hair; caught in the act of standing up, the flour had covered her face and curly brown locks. As she straightened, eyes closed against the assault, Grissom saw white powder nestled in her eyebrows and coating her lashes. Her robe was splattered with the stuff, and a large portion had gone down her neck line, leaving streaks of white on her creamy skin. She began to cough as the cloud around them started to clear, falling like mist to the floor. She opened her eyes and saw a wicked gleam in her husband's eyes. He reached out and traced patterns in the flour on her face. Realizing what he was doing, she trailed her fingers over his bare arms, drawing designs in the flour.

"You know," she commented in an offhand manner, inspecting the Celtic design he was scrawling on the back of her hand, "if you wanted to do something artistic, we could just have gotten the paint out." Grissom laughed, and tried to brush flour off his t-shirt. All he managed to achieve was a new cloud in the air, and a round of sneezing from his wife. Sara stepped back and went for the broom, trailing flour everywhere. When she tried to sweep up the mess, it just wafted further afield. Grissom pressed a hand to his mouth, muffling his amusement. Sara mock scowled at him and stepped toward him to give him a hug; he moved to put his arms around her and felt his slipper-shod foot slide on the flour. He lurched, twisted and slid ungracefully, but relatively gently, to the floor, throwing up a huge plume of flour and colliding with Sara's legs. She wavered; wind-milling her arms to stay upright, but tumbled down on top of Grissom.

"Ow," she muttered, wiping flour from her eyes and wincing at the throbbing ache in her knee. "You ok?" she asked.

"Fine," he returned, taking inventory; probably a few bruises, but nothing serious. "What hurts?"

"I hit my knee, but it'll be fine." Sara brushed flour off his face and leaned closer to kiss him. Grissom wound a curly strand of her hair around his finger, noting the thick coating of powder.

"I think a bath is in order," he mused before her lips sealed over his. He kissed her back, matching her deepening passion and slipping his tongue into her mouth. She pulled back to breathe and pressed her forehead to his.

"I think you're right," she sighed, "flour really doesn't taste all that romantic." Grissom began to laugh, and Sara joined in. "This mess can wait," she decided, getting up and trying to shake as much dust out of her hair as possible before she tracked it through the house. Giving up, she stripped of her robe and let it drop to the floor, doing her best to step carefully around the worst mess as she headed for the door. "Are you coming?" she asked, looking back at him, her eyebrows raised. Grissom tugged off his t-shirt and sweatpants, dropping them quickly on the floor as he watched her bare back vanish down the hall.

...

Sinking into the pool of hot water opposite Grissom, Sara hummed with pleasure. Her back, which had been achy for the last few days, first twinged and then slowly relaxed under the heated immersion. Laying her head back, she closed her eyes and played with Grissom's toes.

"I wonder if the place at Dartmouth has a bath," she mused, sliding lower down into the water, letting it run up to her collarbone.

"I hope so," replied Grissom, running his eyes over her, checking for injury from their tumble and then, when he was satisfied she was ok, admiring the view in front of him. His eyes wandered to her belly, and his thoughts turned to the new life forming there.

"What are you thinking?" she asked softly, eyes still closed. "I can hear your mind ticking you know."

"About us, and a child."

"What do you think?"

"I'm not sure what to think," he said slowly. Sara opened her eyes and stared at him, and he was taken aback by how vulnerable she suddenly looked.

"I'm terrified," she admitted to him, biting her lip.

"So am I, but we have to hope and believe that things will work out this time." Sara took a deep, steadying breath, thinking back to their time in Europe. Not long after their honeymoon they had been surprised to find out that she was pregnant. A child had never been in their plans; they had never really discussed becoming parents. Shock had eventually given way to thrilled excitement until, at ten weeks, she had miscarried. Several months later they had conceived a second time, this time greeting the news with joy. But on the eve of the seventeen week mark Sara became ill and was rushed to hospital in France. For the second time she miscarried, and the resulting complications from the D & E procedure meant that the doctors had told them there would be a less than ten percent chance of her conceiving again. The news had been difficult, but the experience had made their bond stronger than ever. Birth control, something previously often forgotten in the heat of the moment, had gone out the window now that there was such a slim chance that they could create another life together; the unanimous decision to leave nature to its own choices, each privately thinking it would never happen again. Now Sara found herself thrilled, and yet petrified at the same time.

"Third time lucky," she nodded, forcing herself to think positively. She smiled softly at Gil, and ran her big toe down his chest. He grabbed her foot and tickled it lightly, causing her to shriek and yank out of his grasp. She moved to his end and sat right in front of him, curling her legs around his back and linking her hands behind his neck so she could stare into his eyes.

"Are you ok with this? Are you happy?" she asked, seriously. He slipped his hands around her back, his fingers playing over her muscles.

"Yes," he said firmly. "I can't deny I'm extremely worried about you, and apprehensive about being a father. I have no idea what I'm doing and that frightens me, but it's a new learning curve for both of us."

"I think you'll make a great daddy," she smiled, "and yeah I'm petrified of the unknown too, but I think two great scientists can work it out, don't you?"

"I should hope so," he agreed. "Are you alright with this?"

"Yes; I'm just, I don't know... I know it's real, but part of me doesn't want to believe it in case something goes wrong again." Unbidden, tears began to run slowly down her face, carving tracks in the still lingering dusting of flour.

"Hey, it'll be ok," whispered Grissom, brushing away her tears and holding her to him, rocking them both gently, soothing her until she calmed.

"Do you still want to go to Dartmouth?" he asked, laying his cheek against her hair as she pressed her ear to his chest, listening to his heart.

"Yes. I'm really glad now that I'll be out of the lab and away from all the stress."

"So am I," he admitted. "I was afraid I was going to have to persuade you to slow down and relax."

"Nope, if we're doing this, then we're doing it right. Besides," she added, shifting her hips against his, "the doctor said to stay calm and relaxed, and I don't know about you, but I know a few very enjoyable ways to relieve stress." She punctuated her statement by sitting up and kissing him passionately. Grissom groaned into her mouth, his fingers sliding to the front of her body. Sara caught his hands in hers as they broke the kiss to breathe. Resting her forehead against his she grinned at him. "We need to get rid of this flour first Bugman," she laughed. Holding onto his hands she leaned backwards, letting her head fall back, until her hair was immersed in the water; arching her back slightly, she smiled to herself when she heard his moan of longing. She let him pull her back up into a sitting position, and then looked for the shampoo. "Rats," she muttered.

"I think a shower would be better," he suggested, "seeing as how gross the water is now." Sara looked at the flour floating on the surface of the bath, and dusting the sides of the tub.

"Did you just say gross?" she giggled. He winked at her and stood up, pulling the plug out with his foot. They tumbled into the shower, shivering in the corner while the water heated. Grissom squeezed shampoo into his hand and massaged it into her hair, listening to her purr with pleasure. He had never washed another person's hair until she had come home from the hospital with her arm immobilized in a cast, needing help with such things. To his surprise he had found he enjoyed playing with her curls, and that it had a tendency to lull her into the most relaxed of states. Sara's eyes fluttered shut as he massaged her scalp, working his way down to the back of her neck and shoulders. Sara rinsed and conditioned her hair while he washed the thick coating of flour out of his own.

"How can one bag of flour make so much mess?" wondered Sara, using shower gel to remove streaks of white powder from Grissom's neck, jaw and even the ridges of his ears.

"I'm sure we could do better if we tried," he suggested, rinsing off. "You still have some in your eyebrows dear," he added, as she applied liberal amounts of the liquid soap to her own body. Sara rolled her eyes at him and rinsed thoroughly. Gil joined her under the spray, trailing kisses over her face and running her hands over her body. Pressing a palm over her stomach he looked down into her eyes; she gazed up at him, a radiant smile emblazoned deep within her eyes. Overcome, he pressed his lips to hers, pulling her desperately into him. She scrabbled behind her and turned off the water, before blindly reaching for the towels slung over the shower door. They dried off impatiently but her hair was still dripping when they made it to the bed. Dropping his own towel on the floor, Grissom took hers and proceeded to dry her chocolaty hair in much the same way he had washed it; kissing her neck and shoulders as he worked. When she could wait no longer, Sara tossed the cloth aside and turned so they were on their knees, facing each other. She traced his facial features slowly and sensually before leaning in for a deep and unhurried kiss. His arms curved around her, claiming her body as his mouth claimed hers, their tongues dancing in the slow waltz of practiced and devoted lovers. He lowered them to the mattress, taking his time to adore every inch of her, satisfy every plane of skin and caress every contour. He returned time and again to her lips, allowing her to pull him into the most sensual and desiring kisses. Only when they were both incredibly and unbelievably aroused did he initiate their union. Sara pulled him to her with such love in her eyes he nearly crumbled right there and then. She clung to him, and he to her, savouring the sensations of their combined desire, passion and need.


	7. Chapter 7

Over the next two weeks Sara spent most of her working hours in the lab, finishing up as much paperwork as possible and closing as many cases as she could, not wanting to start any more cases she would have to leave the others to finish up. She also tried to leave on time, or as close to on time as possible. Grissom saw to that, calling her and pestering her to leave as soon as was humanely possible, and once she was home, he went to great lengths to get her to relax and sleep. Waking up beside him the morning after her last shift; she had worked most of a double, and then stayed up a later than usual to get started on being a day walker again, she stretched luxuriously and smiled to herself. The extra sleep her husband had been ensuring she received had gone a long way toward refreshing her and abating the exhaustion dragging at her. Thinking of her other half, she rolled over, looking for him, and found her bed fellow still asleep and snoring softly, with his mouth wide open. Sprawled on his chest, also fast asleep, was his obsessive follower and companion, Juliet. Sara looked around for Romeo, yawning with that sleepy satisfaction of a full night's rest. Her kitten was sitting on the post at the bottom of the bed, waiting. Sara giggled softly to herself and slipped out from under the covers, pulled on Grissom's t-shirt and carried Romeo into the kitchen. She filled his food dish and sat watching while he attacked his breakfast. Sara was making tea when Juliet skittered into the kitchen and pounced on her own meal. Hank, snoozing in his basket in the corner, opened an eye and grumbled before getting up and standing by the door, waiting for Sara to let him out. She tugged at his ears, one of his favourite tricks, and then sent him on his way. When she turned she found herself face to face with a tousled and half asleep Gil.

"Hi," she greeted him, leaning in to kiss him gently. He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled flush against him, pressing his lips to her temple. She laughed as he tickled her and then kissed her again.

"How does it feel to be unemployed?" he asked, getting a knife, chopping board, and a melon from the fridge.

"Nice, for now." Sara poured tea and let Hank back in, feeding him and trying to stop Juliet from eating his food too. They sat down to eat together.

"So how much lecture prep did you do yesterday?" she asked, munching a chunk of melon.

"Lots, I'm ahead of where I expected to be at the moment," he told her, passing the cereal box.

"Will you be ready in time?" she asked. They were planning to leave in four days, drive to Dartmouth, taking three days to cover the 2720 odd miles with two stops, and have a week to settle in before Gil started teaching.

"Yes. I think so."

"We're taking my car," insisted Sara, pouring milk on her cornflakes.

"Yes dear," sighed Grissom, knowing a lost argument when he heard it.

"It's more economical, and better for the environment," she argued.

"We'll take your car," he said with a pacifying smile, wanting to stop the argument before it started again. She laughed, recognizing his tactics, and flicked an errant cornflake at him. He tossed it back and managed to land it in her bowl. She reached out and prodded his knee with her toes. Grissom slowly chewed his mouthful of cereal, wondering how to go about his next question.

"What?" she asked.

"What what?"

"Very funny Gilbert, whatever it is, get it off your chest now, before you spend the rest of the day mulling over it." Grissom cursed her intuitive ability to know when something was bothering him, normally it was a good thing, but right now he needed a little longer to collate his argument. "Come on, get it over with," she wheedled, sipping her tea.

"I think you should go to the ceremony," he said abruptly, wanting to get it out and over with. She stared back at him, and sighed.

"I knew you were going to say that sooner or later," she muttered, pushing cornflakes around in her bowl.

"And why not?" he asked, "It's a big deal! Besides, mother wants your photograph to go with mine." Sara choked on her tea, inadvertently inhaling it instead of ingesting it. She glared daggers at him.

"Since when does she know about it?"

"Since um... since I told her," he replied, "accidentally, of course," he added hurriedly. "And Greg wants you to go too. He wants to go and watch."

"I'm not even going to ask how he knows about it," she sighed, sipping more cautiously. "But he was harassing me the other day."

"Well, you know Cath's having us all over to her house for breakfast in a couple of days. The ceremony is in the evening, and Greg has that night off. He really wants to go Sara," said Grissom. "He's really proud of you." Sara sighed, knowing she wasn't going to win this argument.

"Fine, I'll go and you and Greg can come."

"And my mother."

"Fine!"

"Why are you so against it?"

"I'm not, I just don't want a fuss and I don't want the team to know."

"Why not?" Sara sighed and drained the last of the tea from her cup.

"It's one thing for you to have it, you're Grissom. You're the leader, the brilliant Bugman. I don't want to stand out any more that I already do, I don't want to be different from them."

"Does it bother you that much?"

"No, and I'm grateful for the experience, but," Sara struggled to explain herself.

"But what?" Grissom leaned forward on the table, gazing at her.

"It's the work that should matter, not the recognition," she concluded. Grissom rolled his eyes at her. "But I'll go," she conceded, with a grin, "just because you asked." He laughed at her as they got up to clear the table.

...

"We need to start packing," called Sara as Grissom got out of the shower. A moment later he appeared in the closet, a towel wrapped around his waist; he paused in the doorway, taking in her pale green cotton bra and panties. She was in the process of putting on her socks, bent over slightly with her back to him. She straightened and turned, running her eyes appreciatively over his near naked body. "Two can play that game," she smiled, reaching for an old tie-dye t-shirt and a pair of jeans. Before she pulled them on though, she stopped and turned to the mirror on the back of the door. She stared at her stomach, where a tiny bump had begun to form over the last week. She ran her hand over the skin gently, her mind reeling. A warm body pressed against her back, another hand slid over hers and they stared at each other in the mirror.

"I keep thinking I'm dreaming," he confessed.

"I hope not," she giggled, "I'd hate to wake up and find you still in Peru or France or Italy or wherever. It's about time we settled together; wherever we go." She turned in his arms and kissed him lightly.

"Definitely," he agreed, throatily, before pressing his lips to hers again. That kiss quickly morphed into several, which turned hungry and demanding. Sara sighed with pleasure when he pinned her against the wall, their passion quickly building until a shrill chime reverberated throughout the house, and Hank began to bark.

"Did you order something?" groaned Grissom, pulling away from her.

"No, you?"

"Definitely not," he grumbled as she yanked on her jeans and t-shirt, quickly checking her appearance didn't reveal her previous activities.

"Who the heck could it possibly be then?" she muttered, running her fingers through her hair as she ran down the hall, through the kitchen and up the stairs to the front door. 'And to think she was worried about our sex life,' she thought wryly as she waved Betty into the house, grabbing hold of Hank's collar until Betty greeted him and the overexcited dog calmed.

'Hi Betty,' signed Sara. They moved into the kitchen as Grissom came out of the bedroom, fully dressed.

'Hi mom, what are you doing here?'

'Visiting you, since you don't come to me,' she replied with a frown.

'Ouch,' laughed Sara.

'I saw you three days ago mother,' gestured Grissom.

'Well if you two are going off on yet another adventure, then we had better have that dinner before you go.'

'How about tonight,' suggested Sara, trying to keep the peace.

'Wonderful,' agreed Betty, turning to look at Romeo who was sitting on the back of a kitchen chair, looking at her. 'Who's this?'

'Romeo,' supplied Sara, before launching into the story of how she had found the two kittens and brought them home. Grissom whistled softly and Juliet came trotting out of the office; he bent to scoop her up and she settled in his arms. He watched his wife converse with his mother, filled with pride at the way she held her own. He was thoroughly impressed by just how much her ASL had improved recently; she only asked Betty to spell out a couple of words for her.

'How about we pick you up at seven mom?' he asked, putting Juliet on the chair with her brother.

'Alright,' she agreed. She looked them both up and down appraisingly as Sara made tea for them all. They settled in the living room to talk. Sara listened mostly as mother and son talked about Peru and Dartmouth. But when the conversation took a far more personal turn, she interjected.

'Betty, our sex life is off limits for talking about,' she signed firmly. 'We're happy, so you should be happy too.'

'I just want to know things are ok,' pushed Betty, 'a healthy relationship needs a healthy level of physical intimacy.' Sara closed her eyes; this was too much like talking to Hodges and Catherine all over again. She gathered the empty mugs, smiled at her mother in law and went back downstairs. She took refuge in the bedroom, gathering piles of clothing to take to the east coast, reminding herself that they would need clothes for all seasons. She was going through the camera case, checking everything was in order, when her frazzled husband appeared in the closet door once more.

"I love my mother, but she has the most impeccable timing and the no sense of when to drop a subject," he declared. Sara laughed.

"I'm sorry, but after Hodges I just couldn't listen to that all over again. If talk were true around here you and I wouldn't have a sex life."

"What a load of rubbish," snorted Grissom, sitting next to her and folding a stack of shirts.

"Indeed," she murmured, absently reaching over to caress his cheek. He looked up at her, an eyebrow raised.

"Chalk?"

"Um no, just you," she mumbled, leaning into kiss him.

...

They were sprawled out on floor, making out like gifted teenagers when the doorbell rang for the second time.

"What the?" groaned Sara.

"Ignore it," hissed Gil, but when the bell rang insistently again she rolled off him with a troubled sigh.

"Your turn," she growled. "Don't take all day about it." Grissom hurried out of the closet and Sara sat up with a shake of her head and started hunting for her laptop case until her husband returned. He came back into the closet carrying a box.

"So you did order something?" she asked, finding the case under the shoe rack.

"No, this is from Peru, one of my colleagues promised to send it back to me. I just forgot about it." He dumped the box and then pulled Sara to her feet, wrapping her tightly in his arms and resting his head against hers. "Are you happy with our sex life?" he asked, his voice somewhat wary. Sara's head snapped up, she gaped at him.

"Why on earth would you ask that?" she choked out.

"Just checking," he mumbled, embarrassed.

"Are you happy?" she asked, her heart pounding with sudden fear.

"Very," he assured her, smoothing her hair back behind her ears.

"Well so am I," she swallowed, "and I'm going to kill your mother," she muttered under her breath.

"Don't do that," he grinned, "she means well. Besides, if anyone should have the right it should be me, to save us from further mortification." Sara groaned and hung her head. Grissom laughed. "Don't worry, I told her that we are fine, and that she needs to stay out of that aspect of our lives."

"You actually spoke to her about us?"

"No, I said we are fine, that's it. Then asked her not to bring it up again. Pleaded with her actually." Sara relaxed, shaking her head, and gathered up a stack of clothing, taking it out into the bedroom and setting it down with a pile of other things she was gathering. Grissom followed, carrying coats, hats, scarves, gloves and the camera case. He perched on the edge of the bed while Sara picked up her cell phone from her nightstand.

"How long till we have to pick up your mother?" she asked, switching off her phone.

"Hours, why?" he asked, amused. She moved to the other side of the bed and switched off his phone, then unplugged the landline.

"Are you expecting any other packages?"

"No, that's definitely it. Why?" Sara walked around until she stood in front of him. She climbed up on the bed until she was straddling his lap, resting on her knees.

"Because," she whispered, running her fingers through his hair and kissing him, "I want to finish what I started."

"Oh I think I can help you with that," he murmured in her ear, kissing her neck. He ran his hands up under her shirt, pulling her to him as their lips danced together. He lay back, pulling her with him and wrestling her shirt up over her head. She was working on the stubborn button on his jeans while he wound his hands into her hair and kissed her passionately. Grissom ran his hands up her back, and was reaching for her bra clasp when an eardrum shattering crash, a volley of infuriated barks and a cat's indignant scream split the air. Swearing, they pulled apart, lurched to their feet and sprinted for the kitchen.


	8. Chapter 8

Who knew entertaining in-laws could be so exhausting, thought Sara as she brushed her teeth, washed her face and stripped off her dinner clothes. She slipped into bed and yanked the covers up to her chin. A cold nose poked into her ear; she lifted the blankets enough to let Romeo crawl under and settled against her chest, purring. She was on the verge of sleep when Grissom stomped into the room and stalked into the bathroom, shedding his clothes as he went, grumbling under his breath. Within minutes he was climbing in beside her, fuming.

...

EARLIER

After Hank had chased Juliet through the kitchen and knocked over a chair, causing a glass bottle of lemonade to fall and shatter on the floor and soaking the kitten in sticky liquid, they had been forced to put off their amorous activities until later. Sara had corralled the kitten before she could traipse the mess thorough the house and shut her in the kitty carrier she had used for transportation to the vet; Grissom had checked Hank over and banished him outside and they had then surveyed the damage. Shattered glass was everywhere, and the chair had come apart when it impacted the ground. Grissom fetched a broom, while Sara gathered the pieces of the chair and moved them to the laundry room out of the way. They cleaned up the mess then turned to the problem of Juliet. Grissom extracted her from the cage and held her up to examine her for any injuries. Satisfied she was unhurt they tried to wipe her fur clean.

"This isn't going to work," sighed Sara, looking at the tufts of soaked fur sticking straight up on Juliet's back.

"What do you suggest?" asked Grissom, trying to extract the corner of his cloth from the kitten's mouth.

"I think we'll have to bath her," she said.

"I was afraid you were going to say that," he admitted, frowning at Juliet. "What did you do to Hank hmm?" Juliet meowed loudly, smacking him with her paw. Using the kitchen sink, the mildest liquid soap they had, and copious amounts of warm water, they gradually managed to wash and rinse the furious cat. Romeo sat on the counter, watching with interest. Sara thought he looked like he was laughing as he tilted his head to one side at his sister's shrieks of protest. By the time they finally had her clean and dry they were both exhausted, and had lost what felt like a pint of blood each from bites and scratches to their arms and hands. The freed Juliet bolted for the office, hiding under the desk. Sara cleaned Grissom's wounds, applied antiseptic lotion and lightly bandaged the worst; he then did the same for her. After a quick lunch they had resumed packing, readying everything they needed except for last minute items.

Dinner had been a nice affair, the first time the three of them had eaten together without animosity and resentment colouring the atmosphere. The Italian eatery had a wonderful selection, including vegetarian options Sara was hard put to decide between. They had talked of Europe, Peru, and travel in general; Betty had shared her own travel stories from before Gil was born. Then, while lingering over tea and coffee, the conversation had turned sour. Betty had proceeded to give them grief about being away from home again, and had then touched on the prohibited subject again.

'Mother, you promised me earlier you would drop the subject,' said Grissom, firmly. His mother shrugged.

'I'm worried; you two have spent more time apart than you have together since you married. What kind of marriage is it when the two partners don't enjoy each other's company?' Wondering if she had imagined the last five weeks of relationship building and getting to know each other, Sara felt her patience evaporate.

'We love each other very much Betty. We have a very strong relationship, but we have each had things to attend too. Gil told me you want to attend the ceremony; that alone should tell you why I've been here the last year and a half. Gil wanted to teach at the Sorbonne, I thought it was a wonderful opportunity and we both gained by our time in Paris. We missed each other, but like I told you, we talk everyday and we saw each other at least once a month.'

'Not while Gil was in Peru,' the elder Grissom pointed out. Gritting her teeth, Sara said,

'That was the one exception, and we have decided we're not going to be separated again.'

'That's something I suppose, you can work on having a healthy, normal relationship.'

'How many times do we have to tell you mother,' signed Grissom forcefully, 'we are very happy together, and there is nothing to worry about.'

'How can you be happy together when you insist on so much time apart?' she pushed.

'Let it go,' said Grissom, trying to stop her. Betty shook her head.

'No Gil, I'm your mother, I have a,' Sara stood and took the bill the waiter had dropped off a few minutes ago. Taking her purse she went to find someone, rather than waiting for the waiter to return. She went to the restroom afterwards, washing her hands slowly as she tried to regain her calm. When she returned to the table, Betty and Gil were arguing furiously; when he saw his wife Grissom stood abruptly and grabbed his coat. The drive back to Betty's house was silent, all of them furious.

...

Grissom wrapped his arms around Sara, buried his face in the back of her neck with a sigh and closed his eyes. Sara laced her fingers with his over her stomach; relaxing as his breathing slowed and the tension left his body.

"I love you," she whispered, "so much." His arms tightened around her.

"I love you too," he breathed into her ear.

...

Sara rolled over and poked her alarm until it shut up. She slid out from under Grissom's arm and went to get ready; as she was leaving she paused to smile at the way he was sprawled out over the bed, Romeo now pressed up against his side, paws in the air. With a yawn, she left and headed to the doctor's office.

...

When Grissom woke an hour later he found three hungry animals waiting for him, and no Sara. Frowning, his sleep addled brain tried to remember where she was as he got up and went to prepare food. On their message slate in the kitchen he found a hastily scrawled message;

Docs,

love you, S

p.s. please feed the animals.

Smiling, he started measuring kibble and meow mix.

...

Elated, Sara got into her car to drive home. Beth had helped her to find a doctor in New Hampshire, and gone over any and all questions with her. That wasn't the best news though, thought Sara as she drove home. So happy she felt she was walking on clouds, she fairly danced into their home, and found her husband in the kitchen, making oatmeal.

"Hi," he smiled warmly as she approached. He put down the wooden spoon he was stirring the contents of the pan with and turned to her; she seized him in an exuberant hug.

"Everything's fine, all normal," she told him, hugging him fiercely. "And I have a doctor all set up to meet with when we get there. Beth was very optimistic." Grissom held her tightly, kissing her enthusiastically when she pulled back enough to look at him.

"Have you been stressing and not telling me?" he asked, looking her over as though to see some sign she wasn't fine. She shook her head and hugged him again.

"Not anymore than we've been talking about. But I had nightmares all last night."

"You ok?" he asked, smoothing her hair.

"I am now," she replied, stirring the oatmeal before it could begin to burn. There was a bark from outside; Grissom let Hank in.

"Let's go for a walk today," suggested Sara.

"The park?"

"Sure, wherever you want."

They were dressed and ready to go when the doorbell rang. Sara grabbed Hank and clipped on his leash as Gil opened the door to reveal his mother. The room went incredibly still, the air heavy with expectation. Betty walked a few steps inside the door, but made no other move. She looked like she was fighting to try and find the words to express herself. Finally she just lifted her hands and signed elegantly,

'I'm sorry, very sorry. I had no right to go on at you both like that. I haven't slept all night, worrying about it. I just worry about you both because you're my family, and I love you. I apologize, and I hope you can forgive me.'

Gil and Sara looked at each other for a long moment, reading each other's thoughts and emotions in their eyes. Then they both nodded simultaneously.

'It's ok,' they signed together. 'But,' continued Sara, 'Betty, you need to learn when to trust us, and that when we say everything is fine, that everything is fine.' Betty nodded, her expression both relieved, and utterly exhausted, emotionally and physically.

'Mom, are you alright?' asked Grissom, concerned.

'Just tired, I'm going home to sleep. I wanted to ask though, would you like to come over for dinner tonight? I promise to behave myself, and I'd like to make up for last night.' Grissom looked at Sara, the question in his eyes. She nodded and he told his mother yes; Betty thanked them both, and left, shutting the door behind her. Griss and Sara stood there for a moment, stunned into inactivity.

"That was weird," said Sara finally, "nice, but weird."

"Hmm," agreed Grissom, slipping an arm around her waist as they left. Hank bounded ahead of them as they walked to the park, pulling at the end of his leash and he sniffing everything he could get at. Once inside the confines of the park Grissom let him loose, and they walked hand in hand, laughing at his mad antics as he bolted here, there and everywhere. They walked past the children's gated play area, observing the pre-school age little ones out with their parents. One little girl slid down the slide with an excited cry, while a pair of young boys chased each other across the climbing frame. Hearing Sara's soft sigh and knowing what was going through her mind because he was thinking it too, Grissom let go of her hand and slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer to him. He pressed a loving kiss to her temple, and whispered in her ear,

"One day that will be us in there, watching our little one." In response, she slipped her arms around his neck and tenderly kissed his lips.

"Oh no," he muttered suddenly.

"What?" she asked, looking around, searching for his distress.

"I don't see Hank." He called for the dog, but there was no response. Sara raised her fingers to her lips and blew an eardrum shattering whistle that made Grissom wince. Faint barks sounded from across the field, hidden within a stand of trees. They meandered over to see what their pet was up to; fingers linked again, Grissom tickling the back of her hand with his thumb. They found their dog, sitting next to a bush, his collar tangled in a branch, and his fur full of seeds. Sara freed him, and he gambled off; standing up Sara laughed at him and began to look around. A massive tree stood at the centre of the thicket, its leaves shadowing over everything else, creating protection from the elements. Bushes, plants and smaller trees spread out and away from the main tree, with paths wound through out, creating a forest-like feeling.

"This tree is beautiful," she remarked, examining it carefully.

"It's old," agreed Grissom absently, bending to look at a beetle on the ground. Sara rolled her eyes behind his back, running her hands over the bark of the trunk, sighing with pleasure as she felt the age and history and knowledge within the giant being.

"The tree which moves some to tears of joy is in the eyes of others only a green thing that stands in the way. Some see Nature all ridicule and deformity, and some scarce see Nature at all. But to the eyes of the man of imagination, Nature is Imagination itself," she intoned, leaning against the trunk and watching him. He rose and turned to look at her, a bemused expression on his face.

"William Blake, 1799," he replied, walking toward her.

"Very good," she teased. She was about to add more, but he cut her off by placing a hand on either side of her on the tree, leaning in very close to her, and touching his lips to hers. His body pressed against hers, her hands roamed over his back and arms, their lips danced beautifully, their hearts and minds felt and experienced in synchronization. When Sara's tongue ventured into his mouth, Grissom groaned and involuntarily pulled at her hips. "Maybe we should head home," she gasped, pushing into him.

"Yeah," he agreed, kissing his way down her neck. "I think I like the tree better now." Giggling, she grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the thicket, whistling again for Hank. The dog came galloping up and Grissom quickly snapped on the leash so they didn't lose him again. The walk home was brisk, with more than one stop in out of the way corners for stolen kisses. They slipped inside and released Hank; Sara disconnected the doorbell, Grissom unplugged and turned off all phones. They met at the bed and stopped to stare at each other; their gazes conveying love, passion and excitement. Sara reached for him, and pulled his sweatshirt and t-shirt over his head together. He kissed her, his fingers unzipping her sweater as his lips assaulted hers and his tongue begged for entrance to her mouth. Backing up he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her into his lap. He lifted his hands to her shoulders, slipping them slowly under her sweater and sliding them down her arms, letting the clothing fall off her. Sara ran her fingers through his hair, leaning in to kiss him, slowly and sensually. He tugged at the hem of her shirt and she pulled back so he could lift it over her head. He ran his lips over her collarbone as his hands roamed over her back, tracing designs into her skin. She pushed him back until they were lying down; she kissed her way up his neck and across his jaw to his lips while her hands slipped lower to unfasten his belt and jeans. When he went to undo her bra she slid her hand under the elastic of his boxers; he groaned her name and closed his eyes, breathing heavily. Knowing he needed to stop her before she went too far he caught her hands and pulled them up to his shoulders. Holding onto her, he moved them both up to the top of the bed and then unfastened her jeans, pulling them off and tossing them aside; seconds later his own jeans landed on top. He skimmed his hands up her arms, over her shoulders and then worked his way between her back and the sheets until his fingers found the back of her bra. Tugging the offending item away from her milky skin he gazed down into her sparkling eyes; she reached for him, and brought him to her, slipping her tongue between his lips. Her fingers massaged the muscles in his back, while his roamed over her recently exposed skin, toying with her nipples and teasing her ruthlessly. Breathless and gasping, she arched up into him when he fastened his lips over her left breast. His hands strayed lower, curving around her hips, his thumbs slipping under the hem of her panties. Slowly, so slowly Sara thought she would come undone with desperation, he slid them down her thighs. His lips moved across to the other side of her torso, her fingers tangled in his hair. The last of their clothing dropped to the floor and he kissed his way over her belly, tenderly caressing the tiny bump there. Moving lower, his lips followed the path his fingers had taken, teasing, stroking and kissing her into a heightened state of pleasure. She squirmed beneath him, gasping and moaning his name. When her body tensed Grissom moved up to kiss her, cradling her while she rode out her orgasm. He traced her facial features with his finger tips and smoothed her hair back while her breathing returned to near normal. Sara stared up at him, her eyes dark and passionate; she pressed a hand to the side of his face, and then gently pulled his lips to hers in an impassioned and deeply emotional kiss. Her hands roamed heatedly over his skin as she deepened the kiss and shifted her body, wrapping her legs around him. Gill groaned deeply as they joined together and he began to move within her. Gasping, Sara's eyes closed and Grissom leaned down to kiss them before whispering to her.

"Open your eyes Sara, look at me," he urged; she looked up at him just as he pushed them both over the edge, making her scream his name. Locking his arms around her, he rolled them over before he collapsed on her. Lying across his chest, Sara pressed his face into his neck and nuzzled his skin.

"Love you," she murmured into his skin. Grissom curled his arms around her and hooked his foot under the blanket, tugging until he could reach down, grab it and pull it over them.

"I love you too," he whispered to her, gently rubbing her back. "You screamed," he laughed softly, "you've never screamed at me before." Sara giggled into his shoulder.

"If you don't like it, you shouldn't do such incredible things to me," she yawned and sighed happily. Gil grinned, feeling very satisfied with himself as he absently played with her curls. He started to tell her a story from Peru about Incan society, but soon realized she was asleep, the exertion having worn her out. Glad they had plenty of time from her to have a reasonable nap; he closed his eyes and concentrated on her slow, steady breathing, letting it lull him into a light snooze.


	9. Chapter 9

"Do you trust me?" asked Sara, grinning fondly and holding up the razor. Grissom laughed at her and replied,

"Intimately," reaching out and running his hand down the length of her arm.

"Hold still then," she warned before she began the painstaking task of removing the beard he insisted on growing every time he was away from her. "Why do you do this again?" she asked as she finished working on one side of his face and moved to the other.

"Because," he replied, his eyes closed with pleasure as her hand cradled the now smooth side of his face, "I love it when you do this." Sara laughed as she finished her task, and stood back so he could wash off the rest of the shaving cream.

"Is it time to go yet?" she asked, sitting on the floor in the doorway of the closet as she pulled on her socks.

"No, another fifteen minutes or so," he replied, drying his hands and face. "Why?"

"I'm starving," she grumbled, searching for her tennis shoes. He came into the closet; she tickled his bare foot as he stepped around her, he grabbed the nearest t-shirt and tossed it at her, then ducked behind the door before she could get him back.

"Gil, look," she said suddenly.

"Not falling for that one dear," he replied, buttoning his shirt.

"No, seriously! It's Juliet, and Hank." Grissom stuck his head cautiously around the door; Sara gave him a smile of truce, and held out her hand. He took it and slipped around the door to look in the direction she was staring. Hank was walking in circles in the bedroom, trying to look at the kitten perched on his back over his shoulder blades. Juliet rode there like a queen, staring back at the dog she clearly thought she owned. With a sigh Hank leapt onto the bed and curled up, Juliet lay across his paws and settled for a nap.

"Ok then," remarked Grissom, shocked. Sara shook her head and donned her jacket.

"Let's go, we'll be late," she urged.

...

Catherine had made sure her team all left at eight o'clock on the dot; they all bolted home for showers and clean clothes before congregating once more at their supervisor's house. When Gil and Sara pulled up on Catherine's street they saw that they were the last to arrive. Sara parked behind Nick's car and turned off the engine.

"Before we go in there, I should warn you about something," she said, suddenly thinking back.

"What?"

"Remember what I told you about Hodges mouth running away from him? About you and Julia and Heather?"

"Yes," he said, bemused.

"Well, when he left I accidentally told Catherine that you and I have great sex," she mumbled, embarrassed at the memory.

"You did what?" he stared at her, shocked.

"It was an accident," she groaned. "I was so horrified and Catherine's face was absolutely thunderstruck and when he left I just looked at her and spoke without thinking. It was awful," she admitted. Grissom began to laugh, reaching over and running his fingers through her hair. "So," concluded Sara, "just beware she might start on the subject."

"My god, isn't there anyone here who doesn't think we have a healthy relationship?" Sara giggled.

"Almost makes me want to tell them," she replied, resting her hand over her belly. He raised an eyebrow. "Almost," she said, "but just to alleviate the rumours. I don't really want to tell anyone. I'd love to see the look on their faces though."

"Yeah, me too," he laughed. He leaned over to kiss her gently, caressing the side of her face.

"Are you ready for this?" she teased as they got out of the car. Sara checked her sweater was covering her torso properly, feeling slightly paranoid and knowing she had no reason to feel that way; she was hardly showing, a loose shirt would be enough. Shaking her head she linked her fingers with Grissom's and they walked up to the front door. Waiting for Catherine to answer, he leaned closer and whispered in her ear,

"Do you think she's going to interrogate me? Her last email made it clear she's still pissed we got married without telling her." Sara turned to look at him, grinning.

"Oh yeah," she nodded, "she hasn't changed a bit." Grissom was just going to kiss her again when the door swung open, revealing a cheerful Nick.

"Grissom, welcome back man," he said, waving them inside.

"Gil," said an excited voice, a second before a mass of strawberry blonde hair flew into his face and Catherine seized him in a hug. She pulled back, only to hug him again. "How could you run off and get married and not tell us after all these years? We have to find out from the pair of you months after the fact, and all we get is an email full of rainforest bug photos, with one at the end of it where you two are standing on a cliff, looking over the ocean as the sun sets, you're putting a ring on Sara's finger, and the caption underneath just says 'our wedding.'" She paused for breath.

"Hello Catherine," he said. Everyone burst out laughing.

"No details, no telling us what you were doing, no news, no nothing," she exploded, trying to hide her smile.

"We were getting married," he said, "it seemed pretty obvious to me." Nick laughed and shook his head.

"Let's eat," said Brass, "I'm starved." He reached for Grissom's hand and shook it, as did Doc. They all converged in the kitchen, crowding around the table which was crammed with food, paper plates and drink. Sara poured herself some orange juice and filled a plate with fruit and a bagel then claimed a spot on the couch next to Greg, elbowing him until he moved over and created space for her. He flicked a blueberry at her; she snagged it out of the air and ate it with a laugh.

"Now do you believe I'm married?" she asked him.

"Never doubted you; just had to tease a little," he returned, his mouth full of watermelon. Sara looked over at her other half; he was seated with Ray, Doc, Brass and Catherine, who was still grinning. He glanced over at Sara; she winked, and signed,

'I told you she hasn't changed.' He gave her a look of agreement.

"Hey make some space you two," said Nick, walking over with a plate piled high and a small paper gift bag. He settled on Sara's other side and handed her the bag.

"What's this?" she asked, pulling out a book wrapped in tissue paper. "A visitor's guide to New England."

"I figured you would need something to do while Grissom's teaching."

"Thanks," she smiled at him

"So Grissom," said Greg, swallowing a mouthful of strawberry, "I have to tell you that it's mean to let us have Sara back and then suddenly spirit her away again to the other side of the country." Grissom laughed as Sara elbowed her best friend.

"Excuse me, nobody tells me where I can I can't go," she informed him.

"Too right," Grissom murmured under his breath; only Brass and Doc heard him, though Sara read it in his eyes and raised her eyebrow almost imperceptibly in reply as Brass and Doc covered smiles.

"Give us some details Gil," said Catherine, "I'd like to know where the two of you are vanishing off to." Sara gave him a knowing look as he launched into an explanation of what they were doing until the end of the year, leaving out a few details of course.

"What are you doing with Hank?" asked Greg.

"Hank?" choked Nick, thinking of the paramedic.

"He's coming with us," said Sara, trying not to laugh at the expression on her friend's face.

"Hank is a dog Nick," said Greg, amused.

"I have a question," said Doc, looking at Grissom and then Sara. "What happened to your hands and arms?" Sara glanced at the light bandaging they were both still wearing on their hands and lower arms, and laughed at the memory.

"That was Juliet," she answered, reaching for her glass of orange juice.

"Sara found two abandoned kittens while I was in Peru," said Grissom. "And Juliet and Hank wind each other up."

"Yesterday they knocked over a glass bottle of lemonade and we ended up having to bath Juliet," continued Sara.  
"Which she didn't really like," concluded Grissom. The room filled with the sound of rich laughter.

"What's the other kitten called?" asked Ray.

"Romeo," said Sara.

"That figures," grinned Catherine, looking pointedly at Grissom. "They're going with you too?"

"Definitely," assured Sara. Nick and Greg vanished back into the kitchen for more food; Sara watched Grissom talk with Catherine and Ray about the lab, noting the ease with which he conversed; he had changed greatly since leaving the lab and since their marriage. He was still her mysterious, encyclopaedic Bugman, but his communication skills, and admittedly hers too, had improved dramatically. She smiled to herself as she thought about how far they had both come since they had made their final commitment. In Greg's absence, Sara shifted into the corner of the couch, putting her back into corner made by the back and the arm and crossing her legs in front of her. She sighed with relief as the ache in her neck and shoulders eased. Greg dropped down next to her with another plateful of food; he handed her a refilled glass of orange juice and a chocolate covered strawberry.

"A parting gift, my dear lady," he said, mock solemnly. Sara laughed and thanked him.

"Sara, I have a question," said Catherine, when a lull in conversation stuck a while later. Sara looked at her, questioning. "Were you ever planning on telling us about tonight?"

"What about tonight?" she asked, her eyes flying to her husband's. His eyes were as confused as hers.

"You're new title?" Sara looked at Greg, who shook his head, and whispered,

"I didn't tell her," for Sara's ears only.

"How did you find out?" asked Sara, resigned.

"I'm friends with your program advisor; she connected the dots that you and I work together a few weeks ago."

"Oh."

"I know you passed, but I don't know what you were studying." Sara tucked her hair behind her ear with an internal sigh. They were all staring at her, expectant.

"Forensic Psychology." Nick laughed; Brass covered a smile by taking a sip of beer. Sara glared at them.

"And why aren't we invited to the ceremony?" demanded Catherine lightly, a mischievous grin on her face.

"I didn't want to make a big deal out of it," muttered Sara, thinking she could have saved her troubles.

"What award are you receiving?" asked Ray, curious. Sara closed her eyes in frustration, wishing she could just rewind the conversation a few minutes and distract Catherine with something else.

"She's getting a PhD in Forensic Psychology from UNLV," supplied Greg.

"Wow, that's crazy," said Nick, "how'd you manage that?"

"I studied, a lot," said Sara flatly, staring at her glass.

"I didn't mean it like that," backtracked Nick, "I mean, how did you get from a Masters in Theoretical Physics to Forensic Psychology? And when did you find the time?" With a sigh, Sara launched into her story.

"When I moved here I became obsessed with the job, after a year or so I realized I needed a diversion, so I signed up for a few classes at UNLV, which inadvertently morphed into a Masters in Psychology. I don't sleep, so I had plenty of time to study and go to class. When I finished I kept reading and studying, but without a goal, something to focus on, the job began to get to me again. As much as I love being a CSI, every one of us here knows that without a distraction we burn out. The summer at the end of my forth year I realized I needed that focus again, and I was offered a chance of a fully funded PhD. It hasn't been full time, but I've been working on it since then. I kept it up when I left the lab, I did some research in Europe, and I studied in my down time when I was in Costa Rica and then I started writing my dissertation in Paris, and I finished it a few months ago. Are you happy now?" she asked Catherine, raising an eyebrow.

"Very," grinned the blonde, "and congratulations, Doctor Sidle." Sara looked at her glass again, embarrassed.

"That explains why you didn't take Griss' name," said Nick, laughing. "Two Doctor Grissom's would be a bit weird." Sara looked at her husband, a small smile on her lips as he winked at her. Greg noted the exchange, but kept it to himself as Brass and Doc started asking Sara about her studies, and Ray struck up conversation again with Grissom.

A while later Catherine found Sara in the kitchen, helping herself to a few more strawberries.

"I'm sorry I put you on the spot like that," apologised Cath, "I didn't think you would be upset about it."

"I'm not; I just didn't want anything to be different. I just want to be one of the team, and so many people that I've met on campus or in the academic world look at you differently when they know you're a doctoral candidate. I didn't set out to get a doctorate, I was just studying and the professors liked what I was doing; I submitted a paper for a journal in response to something I had read, and UNLV offered me the PhD."

"I'm impressed," said Catherine, grinning, "but I have to ask, can I read your thesis?" Sara laughed and nodded.

"Grissom looks good," noted the blonde, "more relaxed, calm, happy. And it looks to me like that's your fault." The look she gave Sara left little to the imagination. Sara raised an eyebrow, flashing back to their conversation mid Gilbert Foundation investigation. Catherine giggled and set about making tea. "Are you happy Sara?" she asked, seriously.

"Very," sighed Sara, leaning back against the counter and munching on a grape. "You?"

"Oh yeah," sighed Cath, thinking about Lou. Seeing the expression on her former boss' face, Sara knew exactly where her thoughts had gone. When Catherine showed no signs of immediately snapping out of her daydream Sara shook her head and made the tea herself. Catherine came out of her reverie and, blushing slightly, fetched a couple of mugs from the cabinet. "Sara, can I ask you something?" she asked, sincerely curious.

"Yes, but I might not answer it," was the cautioned response.

"Is Grissom romantic?"

Confused, Sara stared at her. "Why do you ask that?"

"He's a scientist, so clinically detached and observing when it comes to people. I've known him forever, but I hardly know him at all. He's so enigmatic and distant; it's hard to know what's behind the science and the brains."

Sara considered her, thoughtfully.

"Is this between you and me?" she asked quietly. Catherine nodded and Sara smiled. "Yeah, he is, but not the way you would be. Neither of us really fit in with the norm, but we fit together in our own way."

"I still have a hard time imagining Grissom as anything other than a scientist, as anything more emotional." Sara laughed and shook her head as Cath handed her a mug of tea. They returned to the family room and settled down for more talk. When Sara and Gil left an hour and a half later Sara curled up in the passenger seat and closed her eyes with a yawn.

"So, did Catherine say anything to you?"

"She tried, but I stopped her with tales from the Sorbonne," replied Grissom, resting his hand on her knee as he stopped at a traffic light. They laughed about the team's antics and the morning until they arrived home. Grissom pulled into the garage situated under their living room; they rarely used it unless they wanted space to experiment or store things. Sara folded the back seats flat and then, starting with Hanks' carrier, they began the process of loading everything up into the car, ready to leave early in the morning. Two hours later they sprawled on the couch, worn out.

"Did we get everything perishable?" mused Sara.

"Everything to go in the cooler is on the top self of the refrigerator, everything else is in the box to give to my mother," asserted Grissom, weaving his fingers with hers and pulling her gently across his chest.

"Dog food? Meow Mix? Water bowls?"

"In the car," Grissom ran the fingers of his free hand through her hair.

"Music?"

"You're iPod is charged, and I checked the cable is in the glove box."

"The overnight bag for when we stop?"

"In the car."

"Tranquilizers?"

"With the cat food." They had taken the precaution of getting mild sedatives for the animals in case they didn't travel well or got distressed.

"Paper work?"

"In the box of books and odds and ends."

"Phone chargers?"

"Same box." Grissom traced her spine until his fingers came to rest at her waist. He slipped them under the fabric of her t-shirt and stroked the soft skin of her stomach.

"Camera?"

"Same box," he repeated, placing gentle kisses behind her ear.

"Mmm... Laptops," she mumbled, distracted.

"Packed! Sara," he growled, frustrated, "we have everything, honestly!" She turned in his arms and gazed down into his eyes, raising an eyebrow. He stared back at her, and raised his own. Sara began to giggle, and he promptly flipped them over so he was lying on top, and kissed her. She let out a soft moan of pleasure, and circled her arms around him, flicking her tongue out to meet his. Grissom kissed her thoroughly, grinning to himself when he stopped to breathe and she seemed incapable of coherent speech at his question of,

"So, what is it you think we've forgotten dear?" Sara's response was to pull him back down to her lips.

...

Sara waited nervously for her name to be called. A handful of other graduates were seated with her near the podium, all dressed in the customary academic regalia. When Sara accepted her certificate and then turned to the audience to step off the stage she heard a loud whistle and a chorus of cheers; she looked to the right and saw Gil, Betty, Greg, Nick, Brass, Doc, Catherine, Ray, Mandy, Bobby, Henry, Hodges, Archie and David on their feet applauding her. Sara blushed and grinned happily, ignoring dignity and waving to them.

...

Later, after the requisite photos Sara found her husband, he was openly grinning at her, and swept her into his arms for a hug; Sara pulled back enough to press her lips to his. Twenty feet away Catherine paused in the act of making her way over to the couple when she saw Grissom whisper something into Sara's ear which made her smile in a way that lit up her entire face, and then lean in to kiss him again, her arms going around his waist, while his cradled her shoulders, holding her to him. Catherine grinned internally at the quiet intimacy of these two, the puzzle of which she had been trying to figure out for the last few years. Seeing them like that fit all the pieces together and warmed her heart. Reaching them she tapped her old boss on the shoulder.

"Can you share long enough for me to congratulate her?" she demanded mischievously when he pulled away from his wife. Sara giggled, and accepted the hug from her former boss. "Come on," urged Catherine, "everyone's here, and there's just time for breakfast at Frank's before shift starts."

Grissom groaned.

"Catherine, we're day walkers now, we eat breakfast in the morning, not the evening," he informed her, as he dug out his car keys. Catherine put her hands on her hips and scowled, opening her mouth to argue. "I'm joking," Gil informed her, waving his keys for effect, "lead on, O Queen of CSI's."

..

In the passenger seat of Grissom's car Sara carefully folded her robe and put in on the back seat, smoothing the dark green dress she was wearing underneath. Then she leaned over to Grissom and brushed a hand over his cheek.

"Where were we before Cath interrupted?" she asked, leaning in to press her lips to his.

Grissom chuckled when they parted; he took her hand in his and ran his thumb over the knuckles and fingers.

"Congratulations," he murmured.

"Thanks," she smiled back.

"I love you Sara," he said, his eyes staring into hers.

"I love you too, always," she replied, holding his gaze. She kissed him again, passionately, emotionally and promissory, before pulling back. "Now get moving, I'm starved." Grissom roared with laughter, and started the car.

...

...

Hey- sorry for the delay; blame my professors and their ugly law essays. on the bright side, easter break is coming up- hopfully that means lots of free time to write:) please R & R; i need the inspiration


	10. Chapter 10

The alarm screeched obnoxiously in Sara's left ear at four thirty am, startling her out of a lovely dream about her honeymoon. With a groan she thrust out an arm and smacked it into silence, then rolled onto her side, and found a pair of luminous eyes staring at her mere inches from her nose. Heart pounding with shock, she reached out and pulled Romeo into a cuddle; her kitten purred deeply against her chest, soothing her. With a sigh she crawled out of bed and stuffed her feet into her slippers. In the kitchen she whistled softly for Hank, he came trotting in at the sound of kibble being poured into his bowl, Juliet trailing after him. She stuck her nose into Hank's bowl, but the dog pushed her away with a paw. Sara could swear Juliet glared at him before attacking her own meal. Leaving them to it, Sara went to shower; the hot spray revived her substantially and then, wrapped in a towel, she wandered over to the bed, admiring the view of her husband sprawled across three quarters of the mattress, the sheets askew and revealing his rather muscular chest. She pressed a hand to his cheek and called his name softly.

"Gil, wake up."

"Call day shift," was the garbled response.

"They're not going to drive us to New England honey," she replied. A hint of a frown drifted across his features.

"I'm telling you that is NOT a dung beetle," he protested hotly. Giggling, Sara shook his shoulder lightly.

"Wake up Gil," she implored, louder this time.

"Fire ants taste just fine thank you," he growled. Sara sighed; since leaving the lab and establishing a decent sleeping pattern her husband was less than agreeable to wake up some days. She ran a hand through her wet hair and squeezed, collecting a handful of water droplets, which she proceeded to flick onto his face. It had the desired effect; he sat up with a start, berating the assistant he had worked with at the Sorbonne until his eyes fell on his towel clad wife and his sleep addled brain put two and two together.

"That wasn't nice," he groused, grabbing her and pulling her onto the bed with him.

"It worked though didn't it," she laughed as he tickled her. "Stop, stop," she gasped as his fingers assaulted her most ticklish spots. She squirmed madly under him, gasping for breath until he stopped abruptly and kissed her. She went instantly still as he deepened the kiss, flicking his tongue over her lips and making her moan softly.

"Well good morning," she gasped, fighting to breathe when he pulled away. He chuckled and traced her neck and jaw with his lips.

"You started it," he prodded, before kissing her again. Sara's response was to curl around him and deepen the kiss. He pulled back and stared at her longingly; she reached up and stroked the side of his face.

"We are supposed to be leaving in half an hour," she whispered.

"Really?" he mumbled.

"Not at all," she lied, fumbling for the twist that was securing her towel in place.

...

At five to seven Sara opened the back door and summoned Hank, then led him into the garage and settled him into his travel carrier. Romeo and Juliet were already secure and sleeping beside him. Grissom came in carrying the cooler, with a few left over items from the fridge and water and sandwiches for the day, all of which was covered in the contents of the ice tray from the freezer. Back inside the house, Sara checked everything was switched off, and spotlessly clean. Quickly she stripped the bed and stuffed the sheets into a plastic bag.

"What are you doing?" asked Grissom, coming in behind her and slipping an arm around her waist to cuddle her.

"Greg will be in every so often to keep an eye on things."

"I know."

"Were you not listening yesterday when Catherine tried to interrogate you about our sex life?" she asked, twisting in his arms to link her fingers behind his neck.

"You think Greg would snoop?"

"No, but I'd like to remove any incriminating evidence anyway. Besides, these are my favourite sheets; I want to take them with us."

"And your pillow?" he asked, as she slipped out of his arms and picked it up.

"An absolute necessity."

"Because?"

"Do I need a reason to want my own pillow?" she asked, heading for the door.

"Not at all dear," he replied, grabbing his own pillow and following her. Sara shoved the carrier bag into a scrap of space left in the trunk of the car, then stowed the two pillows on top of the dog cage, smirking at her husband. Grissom checked Hank, the kittens and the three plants (the original, the one from his mother and the one he had given her on the anniversary of their first year together). Knowing Sara wouldn't trust anyone to look after them after returning to Vegas from Paris to find Greg had almost murdered them, he had found a small box the three pots would fit in and stowed them safely.

"Can we go now?" he asked. Sara grinned and shook her head.

"One last thing dear," she said, taking both their phones, turning them off, and zipping them into the nearest bag. "Just you, me and the babies," she said, tickling Romeo through the cage bars. Taking Gil's hand she pressed it to her belly, "all four of them." He kissed her gently and tucked her hair behind her ears.

"Do you have the picture?" he asked as they slid into their seats and buckled in. Sara thought of the sonogram and smiled to herself.

"It's inside The Complete Works of Shakespeare. Now are you going to start the car? You did insist on driving the first leg, but if you want to reconsider..." Grissom pulled a face and pressed the start button, then pulled out on the street, making sure the garage door shut behind them.

"Here's to you, me and adventure," he said, heading for the freeway.

...

They were almost out of Utah when they stopped for the first time, pulling over to stretch their legs, eat some fruit and let Hank out. Returning to the road Sara took the wheel, driving toward Nebraska while Grissom fiddled with her iPod, looking for the classical songs he knew she listened to when they were apart.

"What is Lady Gaga?"

"Something Greg gave me," she replied. "You probably won't like it," she added, trying not to smile as Poker Face started playing. Out of the corner of her eye Sara saw her husband tilt his head to the side in concentration as he listened to the music. Raising an eyebrow he moved to the next song on the playlist.

"Another gift from Greg?" he asked as Rihanna started singing S&M.

"Definitely," she replied. "Try the third playlist; it has what you're looking for." When Elgar's rich tones began playing through the speakers, he asked

"How do you know what I was looking for?"

"I can read your mind. I made the playlist for you." Grissom smiled and let his hand rest comfortably on her leg.

...

They had not long crossed the border into Iowa when Grissom pulled into a motel for the night; they were both shattered and the animals were getting restless. While Sara went to book a room for the night he let Hank out and walked him around the parking lot. Freed, Hank bounded from bush to bush, sniffing madly for a few minutes until he returned to sit at Grissom's feet, waiting for attention. Bending down, Gil played with the dog's ears, petting him. Minutes later Grissom set up the litter box while Sara let the kittens out to roam the tiny room. After feeding everybody, Sara changed into her PJ's and climbed into bed, trying very hard not to think about all the germs her body was currently in contact with. Griss crawled in with her and they snuggled together, exhausted. Hank draped himself across the bottom of the bed; Sara felt Romeo lodge himself into the small of her back just as she started to drift off to sleep. It was barely five minutes later however, when a crash jolted her awake again, just as Juliet flew over her head and across the room, only to turn around and hurtle back again, before disappearing into the bathroom.

"What is her problem?" groaned Gil as Juliet rocketed past him before flying under the bed, scaling the table and then climbing up the curtains. Sara's response was to stick her head under the pillow. Grissom closed his eyes and tried to fall asleep, only to have a furry female kitten land on him, before taking off again. With a sigh, he got up, hunted her down and carried her back to bed. Curling up with Sara again, he wedged the kitten against his side and took hold of her right forepaw. He gently pressed the top until she spread her toes and curled them around his finger and he could gently massage her toes; a trick he had learned a few days ago in order to make her relax and fall asleep. At the sound of deep purring, peace descended upon the room, and he was finally able to slip into undisturbed slumber.

...

A soft thud and a series of quiet growls woke Sara the next morning. She rolled to the edge of the mattress and peered under the bed; Romeo and Juliet were play fighting over a sock. A glance at the clock made her groan softly. It was six twenty-seven, and they had gone to bed well after midnight. Hank didn't even twitch as Sara burrowed back into the bed and pulled the covers over her head in protest.

...

Grissom woke next, blinking sleepily against the harsh light poking through the crack in the curtains. Juliet was standing on his chest, teeth bared. Before she could attack, he grabbed her and got up to feed her then dressed quickly in yesterday's jeans and sweater, frowning when he couldn't find his sock. Putting a leash on Hank, he left in search of food and in the interests of letting Hank out for a while. Sara woke minutes later, aware that she was alone in bed. She heard the soft crunching of two mouths munching on kitten food as she peered out from under the covers. Nine fifteen am. That's much more like it, she thought getting up and walking over to the bathroom. She was showered and dressed when her husband walked back in with Hank and a bag that smelled deliciously like breakfast.

"Morning dear," he greeted her, stealing a kiss as he put the bag on the bed. He had tea, muffins, fruit and granola bars and sandwiches for later. They ate quickly, and then he showered and dressed while Sara packed their few things and fed Hank. As they were about to leave, he remembered something. "What happened to the socks I was wearing yesterday, I could only find one this morning?"

"Kittens," she said simply. He laughed and picked up the cage, escorting their furry friends to the car. The set a steady pace again; aiming to reach Ohio before they stopped again. They traded driving off and on as they felt tired, stopped to eat, refuel and let Hank out. They had lunch at a truck stop, watching Hank wander from tree to bush to plant as they ate. It was late when Sara drove across the border into Ohio, Grissom was dozing lightly in the passenger seat and the iPod had come to the end of its current playlist. Hank was snoring, and Sara smiled to herself, revelling in the peace, quiet and close proximity of her loved ones. They had crossed into Ohio ahead of schedule and she decided to keep going for a while, but after an hour or so Sara could take the confines of the car no longer, and they found a suitable stopping place. This time it was Sara who walked Hank while Grissom paid for a room and fetched the necessary things inside. When Sara returned with cups of hot tomato soup, thick slices of bread and steamed edamame, a favourite of both of theirs, she found Gil making tea while Juliet thundered around the room, chasing her brother. They sat cross legged on the end of the bed to eat, facing each other with their knees touching.

"How old do kittens have to be before they can be fixed?" asked Grissom, as Juliet swiped an edamame pod. "I've heard that it calms them down sometimes." Sara choked on her soup as she laughed at his wishful tone.

"Seven months or so," she replied.

"And they are...?"

"Three and a half." He groaned, and removed the greenery from Juliet's sharp claws. Instead, he fished an errant piece of string from his pocket and dangled it in front of Romeo, who was sitting on the floor. Twenty minutes later they were lying in bed facing each other.

"Are you still excited?" asked Sara, smothering a yawn.

"Yes," he replied, reaching out to caress her face. "But it would be nice to be there already."

"Yeah," she agreed. "Maybe on the way back we can go slower and visit some places."

"That sounds nice," he agreed, sliding closer to her and pressing his lips gently to hers. Sara sighed happily into his kiss and moulded herself against him as she closed her eyes and nestled her head into his shoulder.

...

It was late afternoon the next day when they finally pulled into the reception area of Dartmouth campus, where Grissom's contact Anders Lindt was waiting for them. He greeted them warmly and they followed him to their housing area; a quiet street with tidy homes and well looked after gardens. The street dead-ended and they stopped outside a small, single storey house with a fenced yard.

"I thought you said it was an apartment?" asked Sara as she stopped the car.

"I did," he replied as they got out and walked over to Anders.

"There was a change of plans three days ago; the tenant moved out and the housing department thought you might like Oak Cottage here." Anders handed them two sets of keys and a packet of papers. "It's late so I'll leave you to settle in, but I'll be back tomorrow. How's ten o'clock?" Grissom agreed and after asking if they needed anything, Anders left them to it.

"Ok then," said Sara, putting a key in the door. The cottage was small and homey, decorated in rich, warm colours with chunky, inviting furniture. Everything was modern, and uncluttered, the surfaces neat and tidy. An inspection of the rooms revealed two bedrooms, a bathroom, a small office, a living room off the entry hall and a kitchen and dining area in one. It would suit them perfectly as a home away from home. Before they fetched Hank from the car they checked the back garden, which was medium sized with a lawn and several large leafy trees at the bottom. The whole thing was securely fenced in, so they let Hank loose to run off all his pent up energy. They emptied the car, putting everything in the office before releasing the kittens. Romeo made a beeline for the litter tray while Juliet pounced on her food. Grissom got the last of the milk and cereal from the cooler and they munched on their supper in quiet contentedness. A quick joint shower and a change of bed sheets and they called it an early night after the last couple of days.

...

Sara woke at six thirty, feeling fully refreshed and freezing cold. She looked around, feeling a little disconcerted until her sleep hazed mind caught up with reality. She was in Hannover, New Hampshire and apparently her husband had rolled over in his sleep, taking the majority of the covers with him. Stretching, she got out of bed and pulled on her clothes from yesterday, not having a clue where anything else was and not wanting to go scrabbling about and risk waking sleeping beauty. She located the cleaning supplies she had left by the office door and then headed for the kitchen; it was time to investigate properly. Though the cottage had been recently cleaned, Sara went through all the cupboards, finding the usual kitchen implements and tools, and cleaning as she saw fit. Years of going through other people's homes had induced a kind of germ paranoia into her already borderline obsessively clean and tidy nature. When she was satisfied she could happily prepare food on the counters she opened the fridge, and almost vomited when she came face to face with an overflowing jar of wriggling mealworms. Slamming the door, she hesitantly opened the freezer above, relieved beyond measure to find nothing but a tray of ice cubes. Shivering at the thought of grubs in her food, she pulled out the shelf, dumped the ice and scrubbed everything thoroughly; her other half could deal with the creepy crawlies when he woke up. She moved on to the table, disinfecting it and the chairs, trying very hard not imagine where those worms had been before making their home in the fridge. Romeo wandered in and perched on a chair, watching her with interest. Sara talked softly to him as she worked, pausing every so often to stroke him and play with his whiskers, making him purr. She was just finishing when Grissom walked into the room, his hair sticking up in tufts and his eyes blurry with sleep.

"What are you doing?" he asked, taking in the sparkling room. "You promised you wouldn't bring an ALS with you."

"I didn't, but just because I can't see anything doesn't mean it's not there."

"Right," he replied, smiling to himself, knowing full well that he was as neat and tidy and clean as she was.

"You get to do the fridge though," she added, "there are worms in there." Grissom meandered across the room and opened the fridge door, peering in at the object of Sara's distress. He lifted the container out and stepped back to examine it, just as Hank wandered in behind him. Gil slipped, wind milling his arms to stay on his feet, and spraying worms everywhere. Sara froze, horror struck as Juliet pounced, batting wriggling blobs around. Hank barked, dancing around the creatures and Romeo scrambled up onto the table, away from the mess. Sara felt her head spin, she snatched up Romeo and went for Juliet, stopping dead in her tracks as the other kitten bit into a worm, then promptly spat it out again. Making tracks for the door, Sara felt ice cold revulsion flood through her body as she stepped on a worm with her sock clad foot and felt it smush against the pressure. Gagging, she jumped for the door, yanked off her socks and bolted for the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Ditching Romeo on the bed, she vomited what little there was inside her into the toilet, shivering. _This is not an auspicious start to our first day here_, she thought weakly.

...

...

The trick with Juliet's paw really works; my cat goes totally crazy sometimes and it really calms him down. everything about dartmouth campus is made up- ive never been there but i would have liked to- so beautiful. please R&R


	11. Chapter 11

Grissom stood in the kitchen, surrounded by worms, the barking dog and the kitten; who now appeared to be using the worms as soccer balls and was batting them under the table. He heard Sara gag and vomit into the toilet, and cringed. She had confessed to him that during her last two weeks at CSI the sight of worms and maggots made her incredibly nauseated and she thought that it must be pregnancy related, since bugs were something she dealt with on a regular basis without adverse reactions. Quickly he ousted Hank to the confines of the garden, and then scooped up Juliet and put her in the living room before shutting himself in the kitchen to get rid of the problem and clean up.

In the bathroom Sara washed her hands and face, trying to get the essence of worms off her skin. It didn't work, rather washing just limited parts of her body made the rest of her feel as though the bugs were crawling on her; with a quiet growl she started the shower and scrubbed religiously, as though she had just spent hours digging through trash or processing human soup. Shivering despite the warm water she washed, rinsed and conditioned her hair thoroughly and soaped her body twice, her feet three times while the memory of the worm mushing against her sock played through her consciousness, filling her with a kind of paranoid horror. Grissom arrived in the bedroom just as Sara finished drying her hair; he got straight in the shower after checking she was alright. Dressed, he found her sprawled on the bed waiting for him, tickling Juliet while Romeo lay across her shoulders, his nose in her ear. Grissom sank down next to her.

"You feeling better?" he asked, running his fingers through her hair. She grimaced, shivering involuntarily.

"Just tell me you got rid of them," she said.

"I did," he promised. "I can't believe it bothers you of all people; big bad Sara Sidle who handles human soup and jigsaw puzzles."

"Please don't remind me," she groaned. "It all makes me feel sick."

"We can't have that," he smiled, stroking her cheek. "I'll just have to distract you."

"How are you going to do that?" she asked, letting go of Juliet as the kitten leapt over her head and tackled Romeo; both felines rolled over the edge of the bed and streaked out the door. Grissom grinned and murmured

"Like this," before pressing his lips gently to Sara's.

"That might work," she agreed when he pulled back, "but only for a moment or two," she continued. Grissom laughed and rolled her gently onto her back, moving with her as he kissed her again, longer and more passionately. "Mmm..." she mumbled against his lips, sighing with pleasure.

"Have I told you today how much I love you?" she whispered when his lips left hers and he gazed down into her eyes.

"I don't believe so," he returned, nuzzling her neck. "How much?" he teased, leaning on an elbow and gazing at her, brushing hair from her face. Sara grinned and hooked her legs around his, rolling them both over so she was leaning down over him.

"This much," she murmured, before pressing her lips to his.

Their make out session was rudely interrupted by the abrupt and rather harsh sound of the doorbell ringing. Sara groaned as Gil stood, pulling her with him,

"That'll be Anders," he sighed, kissing her one last time before heading off to let their guide in. Sara quickly combed her mussed hair and straightened her clothes, then followed her husband. He was in the living room, trying to restrain Hank and Juliet at the same time; both were vying for the newcomer's attention. Sara whistled and Hank stopped struggling and sat calmly. She whistled a second note and he offered a paw to Anders, who shook it in amazement. Griss was staring at her. She grinned and winked.

"Good morning Mrs Grissom," he said, scratching Hank behind the ears.

"Hello," said Sara cheerfully, scooping up Juliet to stop her from climbing on Hank. "It's Sara, please."

"Alright, have you eaten yet?" asked Anders. When Grissom replied that they hadn't, Anders suggested a late breakfast and a chance to talk through any questions or concerns before a tour and then time for Grissom to acquaint himself with the job. Sitting next to her husband in the quiet little diner Sara sipped her tea and listened as their guide chattered away about the school and the area in general.

"Do you think I can get access to the libraries?" she asked Anders, while they waited for their food. She tried not to eye his coffee with envy. He seemed surprised at her question.

"I'm sure that won't be a problem, but can I ask why?"

"I'm working on a couple of journal articles and I need to do a little research before I finish them. I prefer to look at actual books than read online copies."

"I see," said Anders.

"My wife is also a scientist," said Grissom, his fingers tapping a private message in Morse code on Sara's knee under the table. "We have co-authored several biology and entomology papers together in the last few years during our travels."

"I'm sorry," said Anders, honestly contrite. "I just assumed that were involved in another field."

"It's ok," said Sara, waving away his concerns. "You're not the first to think that; several people in France made the same mistake. We met through science though; at a forensics conference."

"You're a CSI?" asked Anders, intrigued.

"I was, until about a week ago. For now I'm here, with some writing and reviewing to do."

"Would you by any chance be the same author S. A. Sidle in the American Journal of Forensic Science?"

"Yes," she answered with a nod.

"Impressive," he said, "I like your work. I always assumed that S. A. Sidle was a man."

"I've only just changed my name academically," she shrugged. "As of last month it's hyphenated."

Sara's fingers tapped a reply on Gil's knee, her irritation with their guide dissipating as he showed interest and genuine remorse for his mistake. They continued with their breakfast and then returned to the car for a tour of the campus, after which Anders dropped Sara back off at the cottage before whisking Grissom away to meet the biology staff and to get settled in his office.

With Hank bounding around the garden chasing imaginary rabbits, Sara set about unpacking. She was tidying the living room to her exacting specifications when she heard the sound of an unhappy engine outside and went to the door to investigate. Her neighbour was struggling with an old F150, which spluttered some more and then died completely. The woman, in her mid fifties and dressed in a thick coat and boots got out and visibly sighed with frustration, running a hand through her already mussed hair. Sara shoved her feet into her own boots and pulled a jacket on over her sweater before ambling over to meet her new neighbour.

Grissom followed a guide around the biology building, meeting people, memorizing pathways and room numbers and receiving all sorts of information and advice. When Anders came back from his errand, full of apologies for disappearing for nearly two hours, Grissom was more than ready to move on to the admin building where he was issued with staff id and more information. When Anders finally pulled up at the little cottage Grissom lifted the large box of supplies and information he had accrued in the last few hours and carried it into the house. When he called out to Sara there was no response. He walked back out to find Hank greeting Anders all over again. Looking around he spotted a very familiar pair of jean clad legs sticking out from under an old pickup truck. Laughing to himself he strode over, a confused Anders trailing him. He stopped by the truck.

"Hello dear," he called. Sara rolled out from under the front end, her hair in a sloppy ponytail and a streak of engine oil down her left cheek.

"Hey, how'd it go? I'm almost done here. Another half hour maybe."

"You're not getting cold are you?" asked Grissom, concerned. It was not warm outside.

"No, I'm fine. And Mrs Wallis makes amazing chocolate chip and coconut cookies," she added, grinning up at him.

"This is her truck?"

"Nope. It belongs to her husband, but he won't get rid of it and it keeps breaking down."

"It's older than I am," commented Grissom. "Well, hurry up, we need to go and get some food sometime today." Sara grinned at him, and vanished back under the car. Shaking his head, Grissom turned to go into his new home. Anders was staring at Sara, shocked.

"She's a woman of many talents," said Grissom, smiling. "Sara can take apart an engine faster than all the men on her team put together. I traded with her to get out of auto detail on more than one occasion," he commented, frowning at the way Anders continued to stare at Sara's legs. "Thank you for your help today." The other man seemed to pull himself together, answered that it was his pleasure and left. Shaking his head again, Grissom went into the house and sat down to read through some of the material he had been given earlier.

Sara rolled out from under the truck and replaced her tools in Mrs Wallis' tool box, returning it to the garage. Getting the keys she started the truck; it roared to life thunderously and happily.

"All done," she said, sticking her head into the kitchen. Mrs Wallis looked up with a relived grin, and handed Sara a box of fresh cookies.

"Thank you so much; that truck has been such a nuisance for the last twenty years, and John still refuses to part with it."

"No problem," smiled Sara, "thanks for the cookies. Let me know if you have any more issues."

"Absolutely, and if you need anyone to introduce you to the area, come on over." Sara thanked her again and left, whistling cheerfully to herself. Grissom looked at her as she came in.

"We're not here even a full day and already you're taking cars apart?" he teased, taking the box so Sara could wash her greasy hands. She laughed, and asked about his tour. They spent the rest of the afternoon searching for a grocery store, and stocking up on food and other necessaries. Early evening found them on the sofa after a dinner of soup and toasties; Grissom sat reading an entomology text while Sara lay with her head in his lap reading the American Journal of Physics. It was a while before Grissom realized that Sara's breathing was light and even, that her body was relaxed and her journal was in danger of slipping to her floor. He carefully marked his page and hers, and put both books aside before cautiously sliding out from under her. Lifting her carefully, he carried her to bed and gently removed her clothes. He fetched his book, checked the animal dishes and the doors, and then crawled in next to her, gently stroking her hair.

At eight thirty the next morning Sara was still sound asleep, and Gil could tell by her breathing and body position that it would be awhile before she woke. As he slipped out of bed, he mused over how much better her sleeping habits had become since they had discovered the pregnancy. In the kitchen he let Hank out into the garden and then assembled his ingredients and tools, working with the precision of a scientist, and the careful devotion of a lover. A little after nine he carried a tray into the bedroom and, shedding his robe, slipped back under the covers, sitting up against the headboard. He waited as the pleasant aromas drifted toward his wife and her facial expression shifted. She yawned and opened her eyes slowly, a smile spreading across her face.

"Good morning dear," he murmured, as she pushed herself into sitting position and leant over to kiss him.

"Hi," she yawned, her voice still heavy with sleep. He passed her one of two plates covered in pancakes topped with strawberries, raspberries, blackberries and blueberries, and a mug of tea. Gil watched her face as she took a bite and closed her eyes, humming with pleasure. Smiling to himself he began to eat.

"That was so good," sighed Sara, as she stacked their plates and mugs on the bedside table and turned, snuggling into him. She pressed a soft kiss to his collarbone, "Love you," she murmured.

They had a lazy day, unpacking and then exploring the campus with Hank, who seemed delighted with the vast, open, green spaces that surrounded him. On the evening before teaching began they slipped quietly into bed and snuggled together.

"You ready?" she yawned, tucking her head into his shoulder.

"Yes, it'll be good I think." Sara sighed happily against him, her eyes closed and sleep closing around her like a friendly blanket. "By the way," he said, tugging the blankets into a better position, "when did you teach Hank to shake hands?"

"I got bored without you," she mumbled. "He does lots of," but she didn't finish the thought, instead succumbing to slumber. Grissom grinned to himself and turned out the light.


	12. Chapter 12

Sara grinned as Grissom fumbled with his tie as he finished getting ready for his first day teaching. She was sitting crossed legged on the bed with Romeo in her lap as her husband wrestled with the thin slip of fabric, a frown etched on his features. Exasperated, he turned to her with a slightly pleading expression on his face as the knot fell apart in his fingers.

"How is it that someone with such an impressive resume and such an extraordinary mind can struggle with something as simple as a Windsor knot?" she asked, just barely keeping a giggle out of her voice as he stood in front of her and she began to deftly secure the offending accessory. He sighed and shrugged slightly. "What did you do before?" she asked, straightening the tie and pulling the end out of Romeo's grip.

"Glue, clip on tie or I loosened the knot enough to get it over my head. I can tie them fine, as long as it's not around my neck." Sara smiled and kissed him gently.

"Have a good day," she said.

"You too, I'll see you later." He gave her another kiss, gathered his coat and briefcase, and left. Sara lay back on the bed and tickled Romeo.

"What am I going to do today, hmmm?" she asked the kitten, stoking him softly. Juliet pounced on her chest, demanding attention. "Any ideas Juliet?" she asked, trying to stop Romeo from chewing a strand of shower-damp hair. Juliet meowed, and launched herself at her brother. They wrestled and then tumbled off the bed before chasing each other down the hall in what was now a customary morning game.

...

An hour or so later Sara wandered through a beautiful park full of evergreen trees and shrubbery. As heavily wrapped up as she was, she still shivered slightly and so turned and started walking in the general direction of where she had left her car. Passing a clump of bushes she heard a low whimper and paused, listening intently. Hearing the sound again she worked her way into the greenery, searching for the source. Pressed against the trunk of an old oak tree a young greyhound puppy was shivering in the cold. Kneeling down beside it Sara noted the its right foreleg had a nasty looking compound fracture and that there were cuts on the dog's back and other legs. Talking in a low, soothing voice she pulled an old bandana out of her coat pocket and folded it into one long strip of fabric about an inch wide. Carefully she tied it as a makeshift muzzle, knowing the dog wasn't going to be happy about being moved. Not having anything to brace the leg with, she carefully and slowly eased the dog into her arms, talking softly all the while, and set off for her car. There was a blanket in the trunk which she wrapped her passenger in before getting behind the wheel. She had passed an animal shelter on the way to the park.

...

Sara pulled into the large, gravel drive way of Animal Ark Rescue Center and parked carefully. She checked her passenger, then hurried inside the single story, somewhat utilitarian building that appeared to front a complex of other structures. The reception area was in chaos. The phone was ringing shrilly, two employees behind the counter where frantically gesticulating over a piece of paper, and a third was trying to calm a mother trailing three youngsters in outfits emblazoned with a soccer motif, and yelling at another, this one a young teenager with green hair, half a dozen facial piercings, artfully torn clothing and a plastic bag in one hand. The employee made calming motions with her hands, but the mother continued to roar at the teen, who bellowed back with equal force. The mother seized the bag and thrust it at the girl behind the counter, who backed away, looking terrified.

"I'm sorry mam," she insisted, "but we don't take fish here. Are you sure the pet shop won't take it back?" The irate woman heaved in a deep breath of air, brandishing the fish at the girl. Before she could speak again, Sara lunged forward and scooped the bag out of her hand, shooting a panicked glance inside. The fish was swimming in tight circles, but otherwise appeared to be unharmed.

"I'll happily take the fish," she said calmly. "I'll take good care of it." The woman gaped for a moment, taken aback. Then she nodded curtly and grabbed the teen by the sleeve, hauling him out of the door, the other three trailing behind them like ducklings.

"His name's Anthrax," shouted the teen as he vanished outside. Sara looked at the girl, who glanced at the clock, gasped, and bolted through the back door. The other two employees were still debating over the piece of paper and the phone continued to ring, the sound so grating that Sara snatched it up off the cradle.

"Animal Ark Rescue Center, how may I help?" she asked.

"What time are you open tomorrow?" asked a burly voice. She had seen a sign on the door coming in. With a sigh of relief Sara replied,

"Nine-thirty to four."

"Thanks," said the voice, before the line went dead. Sara replaced the receiver, muttering

"You're welcome." She looked at the other two; they were by the back wall, their heads bent as they tried to calculate something. "Excuse me," she tried. They didn't hear.

"No, no," said the more senior of the pair, who seemed to be leading the discussion, "It's this one, $17.93 and we need sixty-three of them."

"Where's a damn calculator when you need one?" groaned the other.

"$1129.59," said Sara loudly, trying to get their attention. They both turned to stare.

"Minus twenty percent discount," said the older woman.

"$903.67."

"Plus California eight point two-five percent sales tax."

"$978.22."

"Plus nine point four percent delivery fee."

"$1,070.17."

"Are you a math genius?" asked the younger girl.

"No," replied Sara, "I'm someone looking for a vet to help an injured dog I found at the park." The older woman put two fingers to her lips and blew an ear-piercing whistle. A forth woman appeared through the back door, wearing surgical scrubs and a large amount of black animal fur.

"This human calculator has an injured dog," said the boss lady, jerking a thumb at Sara before picking up the phone and rapidly punching in numbers, the paper clenched in her hand. The vet came around the counter and smiled at Sara.

"I'm Mariah, let's see the patient shall we? You can leave the fish on the counter so he doesn't freeze to death out there." Her head reeling from the last few minutes Sara led Mariah to her car, explaining how she'd found the puppy. She helped the vet move the dog into the center and then relinquished it into Mariah's care with a sad sigh. Returning for her fish, she found the boss lady putting the phone down.

"Sorry about that," she apologised, shaking hands with Sara. "That order literally had to be in less than a minute ago and I can't wait another month to order them." She looked around at the piles of notes, receipts, files and general office chaos. "I had a secretary, but she up a quit on me two weeks ago, and Mikah, the young lass the fish lady was threatening? She's doing what she can, but she's no hand at organization." She yanked a stack of files out from under the telephone and stuck her paper to a notice board. Sara winced internally at the mess, and reached for her fish.

"Are you as good with computers as you are with numbers?"

"It depends, but for the most part I get by, why?"

"Do you want the job?"

"What?" spluttered Sara, caught off guard.

"Nine to four, Monday to Friday. Office work, fixing this mess and computerising all our files. You look like the sort of girl that likes solving puzzles." Sara stared at her.

"Look, you obviously love animals, you've already rescued two this morning, and you've demonstrated that you can answer a telephone, and mediate tense situations. What else do I need to know?"

"Ok," said Sara slowly, her mind reeling, as she struggled to come up with an answer. "Give me a couple of hours to take care of my fish and I'll come back."

"No problem. My name's Mary and I'll be here when you return."

"I'm Sara, and do you know where the nearest pet store is?" Mary grabbed a sheet of printer paper and scribbled a map.

"See you later Sara," she smiled, and then vanished through the back door.

...

An hour and a half later Sara sat at the kitchen table eating a sandwich and watching her fish swim around his new home. The guy at the pet store had been very helpful; it transpired that her new friend was a young male Betta. For twenty dollars Sara had purchased a kit containing a one gallon triangular tank with a small pump, some green gravel for the bottom of the tank and a somewhat realistic plant. Also included was food and liquid drops for conditioning the water. She watched as the fish explored the castle ornament she had placed in the bottom of the tank. His body was bright turquoise and his fins a deep purple; moving through the water he looked like rippling silk. Sara stared, entranced as he fluttered slowly around the castle and then through the leaves of the plastic plant. It wasn't until Hank barked from the back yard that she realized she needed to get moving. Driving back to the sanctuary she wondered if she was doing the right thing. Mary seemed more than a little crazy, and her track record with crazy wasn't exactly reassuring. What the heck, she thought as she walked inside, I'll see what it's all about.

"How's your fish?" asked Mary with a smile as they sat in her tiny office, that was, if at all possible, even more cluttered than the reception area.

"He's ok," smiled Sara, "the man I spoke to at the pet store was very helpful. He's swimming around on my kitchen table until I find a better place to put him."

"You got a name for him yet?"

"Shakespeare," admitted Sara.

"Ah, an educated woman," said Mary, yanking out a blank file. Sara raised an eyebrow and Mary shrugged. "I studied sociology before I found my calling." Sara laughed. Mary handed her a sheaf of papers which Sara glanced through quickly before realizing something.

"I just moved here and I don't actually know my address yet," she said, indicating the form.

"Bring it tomorrow," shrugged Mary. "Any criminal history I should know about?"

"No."

"Drivers license?" Sara handed it over. "Social Security?" She passed that card over too.

"Any allergies?"

"Shell fish."

"Medical conditions?"

"I need to avoid toxoplasmosis." Mary looked up from her form.

"How far along are you?"

"Seventeen weeks."

"Congratulations."

"Thanks."

"Your first?"

"Um, yeah," she replied, uncomfortably. Mary looked at her, blue eyes sharp and appraising.

"I won't tell anyone," she promised, scribbling away on the form before presenting it to Sara to sign. She handed back Sara's drivers license and social security card. "You don't sound like you're originally from Vegas."

"Tamales Bay, California," acknowledged Sara.

"Boston, Massachusetts."

"I like Boston," said Sara.

"Me too; work history, last job?"

"Las Vegas Crime Lab, Criminalistics." Mary stopped writing and looked up at her again.

"What are you doing here?"

"My husband is guest lecturing at the university for a year. I'm supposed to be taking it easy, but I can't sit around and twiddle my thumbs." Mary snorted, nodding.

"I've got four rugrats and every time I was pregnant my man wanted me home doing the accounting. I started ignoring his calls eventually, when he tried checking on me every half hour." She surveyed the papers Sara handed to her. "That'll do for now. Let's take a tour. We have all manner of mammals, small and large and some birds, but nothing aquatic, and nothing exotic either. No lions and tigers. There are two vets and about a dozen staff. You met Mariah, the other vet is Joe, he likes animals a whole lot more than he like humans. Candy works in the office after school, she'll be in later." Sara followed Mary through kennels, two catteries, storage areas, a stable, a long building housing various small animals and finally the surgery. Mariah looked up from cleaning an exam table.

"You here to see the puppy?" she asked, leaning Sara over to a row of cages built into the wall.

"How's she doing?" asked Sara.

"She'll live," smiled Mariah sadly, "she'll have a bit of a limp once that leg heals, and some of the cuts will probably scar, but she'll be ok."

"This was deliberate wasn't it?" asked Sara, stoking the dog's nose when she pushed it through the bars.

"Yes, the third case we've had in the last two months."

"People are sick," said Sara bitterly as the dog snuffled her fingers and licked her.

"You want to give her a name?" asked Mariah. Sara thought for a moment, then nodded.

"How about Lucy?"

"I like it," said Mariah, taking a sharpie out of her pocket and scrawling the name on the card above the cage.

"What's going to happen to her?" asked Sara, still running her fingers over the dog's nose.

"We wait and see if someone claims her and if they don't we try and re-home her."

...

The office was even more of a disaster than Sara had noted from the other side of the counter. Mary gave her a brief rundown of the way things were supposed to work, then left to attend to a disaster of some sort. Standing in the middle of the room, alone, Sara tried to decide where to start, wondering if she was maybe a little out of her mind. What the hell, she thought, might as well dive right in. Two hours later she had sorted all the loose paperwork into rough piles by category, and tidied up the desk space. One of the filing cabinets had a box of antibacterial wipes on it, so she wiped down the counters and the computer, which was sporting a healthy coat of dust. She was familiarizing herself with the log books when a teenage girl in jeans and several layered t-shirts dropped into the other office chair. A mass of short, pink and blond hair framed her face in choppy layers. Her sharp eyes were dark blue and presently irritated. She dumped her backpack unceremoniously on the floor and shoved it under the counter with her foot.

"You're new," she stated, leaning back in her chair.

"I am," replied Sara, curious.

"Candy Peters," she offered a hand. Sara took it.

"Sara Grissom," she replied. Sidle-Grissom was too long to use every day, but it worked nicely for academic differentiation. "Tough day?" she asked, indicating the backpack. Candy rolled her eyes.

"Senior year is supposed to be easy," she grumbled. "But don't bother telling that to my calculus teacher." She shrugged, and looked around. "What kind of system have you got going on here, it sure looks better than it was."

"Thanks," said Sara, showing her what she'd been doing. "Can you explain these invoice logs to me?" she asked. Candy nodded.

"Sure thing. I don't suppose you explain calculus to me?" she replied, somewhat offhand as she opened the nearest log.

"If you like," answered Sara, startling a look out of the girl.

"Really?"

"Really!" Candy grinned openly at her.

"I think we're going to get along just fine," she laughed.

...

Sara was making stir-fry when Grissom got home a little after five.

"Hey," he said, walking up behind her and kissing her cheek.

"How was your first day?"

"Good, it's nice to back in a classroom. I think I'm going to enjoy this. How was your day dear?"

"Oh, well, I rescued a puppy, adopted a fish and got a job I didn't even apply for," she replied, chopping onions.

"You kept busy then?" he teased, an eyebrow raised. Sara laughed at how crazy the few hours since their last conversation had been. She put down her knife and turned to kiss him properly.

"How about you tell me all about your day, and I'll tell you all about mine?" she suggested. He grinned, and kissed her again.

...

...

Please R&R, your comments inspire me :)


	13. Chapter 13

They sat next to each other eating dinner and watching the fish swim lazily around his tank.

"You named the fish Shakespeare?" repeated Gil, incredulous. Sara elbowed him.

"Don't knock his name. As I recall, you and I have gotten quite a lot of pleasure from reading the complete works of Shakespeare together. Besides, it's better than what the kid was calling him."

"And that was?"

"Anthrax," she replied, swallowing a mouthful of stir-fry.

"I stand corrected," he replied, somewhat disturbed, as he watched the pretty little fish flutter through the fronds of his plant, oblivious to their conversation. "God, I hope our child doesn't turn out like that," he said, worried. The colour drained rapidly from Sara's face, and Grissom mentally kicked himself. He knew she was terrified she would end up like her mother. He turned in his seat and gripped her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. "Listen to me, you are nothing like her. You are the most caring, compassionate, dedicated person I know. You fight for human and animal rights, you shoot to take down, not to kill and you might be tough as nails on the outside, but inside, you are warm and soft and passionate. There is not a single chance alive that you will become like her because I know you won't let yourself, because you have me to look after you, and because you're just not her Sara." His eyes searched hers, staring deeply into her soul. "Do you believe me?" he asked. Sara managed a tiny smile and nodded; he pulled her gently out of her chair and into his arms. "And for the record, I like the fish, before you start worrying that I don't," he added, gently massaging her back. That startled a laugh out of her and she leaned gratefully into his hug.

...

After dinner they dressed in warm clothing and took Hank out for a walk.

"Why didn't you take Hank to the park with you this morning?" asked Gil, his arm around Sara's waist.

"He wouldn't get out of his basket," she replied, pausing in the shadow of a tree as they crossed a green. Gil stopped next to her, an eyebrow raised. Sara smiled softly at him, and then leaned in for a kiss that was warm and inviting, and most definitely promissory. He smoothed a stray lock of hair behind her ear and then kissed her back, his lips linger over hers. Hank's bark roused them from their moment, and with soft sighs they continued on, following their impatient hound.

"This is nice," mused Sara, listening to the quiet surrounding them. The rustle of leaves and the sway of branches in the light breeze.

"It is," agreed Grissom, taking her hand in his as they wandered on, his thumb absently caressing the back of her hand.

"So what was class like today?"

"This morning I had genetics; they're halfway through mapping their family histories. It was rather quiet actually, some very smart kids, some good discussion, a few thought provoking questions. I hope that they'll liven up a bit as we go along; the professor I'm covering seems to have been very ah... lecture orientated," he mused, "not a lot of student interaction."

"I'm sure you can liven them up," giggled Sara, "I seem to remember that you are anything but dull as a speaker." Grissom laughed and pulled her into a quick kiss, which Sara promptly deepened, winding her arms around his neck and pressing her body into his. Again it was an impatient Hank that pulled them apart and caused them to move on, picking up their pace as they headed back toward the cottage.

"I don't know about that," he mused, his arm firmly around her waist. "My star student isn't in the class this time." Sara giggled again and asked about his afternoon lecture.

"It was much better. It's a freshmen intro course and we're looking at cells. There's a kid in there who reminds me of Greg; right down to the weird clothes and the spiky hair.

"Seriously?" asked Sara.

"Yep, he even has blue streaks and a t-shirt that read 'I recycled my homework to save the environment.'"

"Oh you have to keep me posted on that one," she laughed. "What's tomorrow?"

"Another freshmen class and themes in entomology."

"Bet you're looking forward to that one the most," she teased as they turned into their street.

"Maybe," he admitted. They walked even faster as their home came into view; his grip on her waist tightened with anticipation. Looking for a distraction he asked, "If I got some new racing roaches, do you think Juliet would try to eat them?"

"Not if you keep them secure," she mused, thinking about John, Paul, George and Ringo who had escaped in his mother's house while they were enjoying Paris and who had met a flat end under the heel of her boot. Reaching their front door Grissom fumbled with the keys, feeling Sara's arms wrap around him from behind and begin to unfasten his jacket. When the door finally opened, Hank bounded inside and scurried into the kitchen. Sara twisted the lock closed and then turned to Gil, capturing his lips in a prolonged and heady kiss. He backed her up against a wall as he struggled with the buttons on her coat and the knot in her scarf. His frustration was compounded by the fact that Sara effortlessly finished unzipping his coat and pushed it to the floor, all without breaking an ounce of passion in her kiss. When Grissom finally succeeded in removing her outer layers Sara toed off her boots and wrapped her arms around his neck. Gil quickly kicked off his own footwear and together they made their way to the bedroom, still wrapped tightly in their embrace. Juliet, lounging on the bed, fled as they tumbled down next to her. Pinning her to the bed, Grissom took his time as he kissed his way down Sara's neck, leaving no patch of skin unattended. Sara ran her fingers slowly thorough his hair and then down his chest, working the buttons on his shirt free. When he pulled back to strip off the offending garment, Sara sat up and pulled her sweater and t-shirt off together before unfastening her jeans and trying to kick them off while Gil was still lying on top of her. He laughed and assisted in pulling them down her legs, then rolling away to remove his own pants in what Sara swore was a leisurely and unhurried manner. She scowled at him, yanking down the bed sheets and then tugging off her socks, not noticing Romeo as he sank his claws into one and dragged it out into the hallway. Grissom casually folded his jeans and set them on the chair in the corner, well aware that his wife was glaring at him. Grinning to himself he bent to remove first one sock and then the other, his back still turned. Finally, clad in only his boxers he turned to begin a slow meandering back to the bed, but found himself nose to nose with Sara. His heart lurched as she smiled softly and then promptly pushed him into the wall and kissed him with every ounce of passion in her as her hands roamed his torso, caressing his musculature and gradually moving lower and lower. She plunged her tongue into his mouth as her fingers skimmed across the front of his boxers, skilfully achieving her desired goal. His body aching to claim her he reached for the clasp of her bra and then gasped as she broke the kiss and stepped backwards, out of his embrace and turned, walking away back to the bed, leaving him pressed against the wall, breathless and at a loss for words. Staring at her, his gaze conveying his acquiescence to her point about teasing, he slipped into bed with her and proceeded to kiss her senseless. Her bra and panties soon slipped to the floor, joining their pile of discarded clothing. Gil was lost in her as he worked his way down her changing body; lavishing attention on her now slightly swollen breasts and her more rounded abdomen. She seemed radiant with the pregnancy, and she reacted with greater sensitivity to his every touch. Kissing her lips fervently, he let a hand slide down her body to his ultimate destination while the other cradled her to him. Sara moaned breathlessly into his shoulder as an intense orgasm crashed over her, rendering her incapable of coherent thoughts or conversation. Grissom rocked her gently in his arms, kissing her lightly as she recovered. As she regained some control and awareness she returned his sweet, loving kisses before turning up the heat again and moving down his body, returning the favour. He gripped her shoulders and cried out as she pushed him over the edge, before she moved up and kissed him, nuzzling his neck. Burying his hands in her hair, Gil kissed Sara with fire in his veins and overwhelming desire in his heart. She moaned into his lips and pressed her hips involuntarily into his, gasping as his hands roamed over her torso in a feather light touch. Gil rolled them over and pinned her to the pillows, taking his time as he adored every square inch of her body. Her mind reeling with sensory overload Sara tried to pull Gil up to her lips, but he continued his mission of arousing every cell in her body causing her to revel in a kind of blissful agony. When he finally returned to her lips Sara was completely inept at making any sort of verbal communication and simply gazed up at him through hazy eyes. Kissing her softly and lovingly Grissom shifted between her legs and slowly entered her, causing them both to groan deeply. Sara arched her back and pressed her hips up into his, wrapping her legs around his waist as he began to thrust into her, picking up his pace as they approached their shared goal. As they crashed over the edge together Sara screamed in ecstasy as Gil pressed his face into her neck and cried her name. He rolled onto his back, pulling her with him and held her fast to his chest, playing with her sweaty curls as she slowly regained control. Snuggling under the covers Grissom continued to hold her close as they drifted toward sleep.

"I love you," she murmured, utterly exhausted and thoroughly sated. Gil pressed his lips against her hair.

"I love you too," he replied, his eyes closing in slumber.

...

Sara woke first the next morning, feeling a little tired still, but very relaxed and happy. Rolling over she looked at Griss and smiled at how he was sprawled across his side of the bed with a hairdo that wouldn't have been amiss on a porcupine. She rolled out of bed and pulled on her robe and slippers, heading off to make tea and breakfast. She stood at the window sipping her drink, watching Hank tear around the garden and reliving that previous evening in her mind. It's got to be the pregnancy, she mused, thinking about the incredible sensitivity and new highs she was reaching. After a bowl of cereal and a few minutes staring at the overly therapeutic Shakespeare she wandered back into the bedroom with a mug of tea for Gil, and a shower in mind. She was just soaping up her hair when the shower door opened and the object of her thoughts slipped inside to join her.

"Good morning," she grinned leaning forward to press a light kiss to his lips. "You sleep well?"

"Oh yeah," he returned, taking over for her and massaging shampoo into her hair.

"Mmm," she purred, closing her eyes in pleasure. "Last night was amazing," she sighed as he tilted her head back slightly to let the water rinse away the suds.

"You're amazing," he returned, kissing her behind her ear as she straightened up, her hair sparkling with water droplets. Kissing him back, Sara returned the favour and washed Gil's hair for him, massaging his scalp, neck and shoulders before wrapping her arms around him from behind and hugging him.

"So are you excited about classes today?" she asked as she rubbed conditioner into her locks, which were growing more rapidly than usual thanks to the changes in her body chemistry.

"Yes, I love teaching freshmen and of course the bugs later on," he grinned.

"My Bugman," laughed Sara, as she applied shower gel to her skin before rinsing for the final time and stepping out of the shower. A few minutes later Sara was drying her hair and teasing Juliet who liked to sit in the stream of hot air from the dryer when Gil came out of the closet in socks, his boxers and a shirt which he was occupied in buttoning. Sara smirked, looking him up and down with pursed lips. Turning off the dryer she draped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply, inhaling the wonderful scent of his skin and pressing herself against his muscular chest. Gil groaned as they pulled apart.

"We do have to go to work you know," he said. Sara ignored him and kissed him again, her tongue slipping into his mouth. Gil reflexively pulled her closer, his hands winding into her hair as her bare breasts pressed into his chest and her thigh pushed against the front of his boxers, causing an instant reaction. He was gasping when then the pulled apart to breathe. "Sara," he moaned, "we have work." Scowling his wife pulled back with a sigh. "What's the matter with you?" he asked, willing his body to calm so he could finish dressing comfortably.

"I can't help it," she said, trying very hard to restrain herself. "It must be the hormones; I want you more than anything." A slow smile spread over his face as he glanced at the small travel clock on the bathroom counter. Abandoning his shirt he pulled her back to the bed, kissing her ardently as his fingers danced over her nude body. His fingers slipped between her thighs as his lips worked their magic along her jaw, neck, shoulders, chest and breasts before returning to her lips. Only when she was writhing under him, begging for release, did he kiss his way all the way down to her core and coax her into a blistering orgasm. Slipping back up the bed he held her gently as she rode out the high; peppering her face with soft, adoring kisses and stroking her wildly curling hair. As her breathing calmed he smoothed a hand over her belly, thinking of the tiny life hiding there. Sara put a hand over his, lacing her fingers through his.

"Thank you," she sighed, sitting up carefully and resting her head on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to her temple.

"When is your next doctor's appointment?" he asked, rubbing her back lightly.

"Next Friday afternoon. I think it's at 5pm."

"Do we get to find out?" he wondered as they made their way back to the bathroom.

"I think so," said Sara, smiling at the thought of knowing the sex of their baby. Gil picked up his discarded shirt and shook it out before putting it back on. "Any thoughts?" she asked him as she tried to tame her hair.

"I don't know, it's a fifty-fifty chance," he mused. "What about you?"

"I haven't really thought about it," she admitted honestly. "I've been too worried about everything that could go wrong. When I'm not preoccupied with certain, ah, overwhelming cravings," she added. Grissom's expression changed to one of pain and worry, and he stepped toward her, taking her into a troubled embrace.

"It's eighteen weeks next week," he murmured, "and your last check was fine. It's going to be ok this time," he soothed, mentally willing his words to be true. Sara sniffed into his shoulder before letting go of him to dry her eyes.

"I can't believe this," she sighed, blowing her nose. "I'm on a constant emotional rollercoaster ride. It's maddening." Using a cool wash cloth she wiped her face and then joined him in the closet to dress. Pulling a bra and pair of panties out of the drawer, Sara looked at Gil guiltily. "You kind of need to hurry." He laughed and buckled his belt, before reaching for his jacket and shoes.

"Where's my toothbrush?" he asked suddenly, after walking back up to the sink.

"It's right there, next to mine," she replied, tugging a sweater over her head.

"No dear, it's not," came the perplexed reply. Sara stumbled out next to him, trying to walk and pull on a sock at the same time. "Whoa, careful honey." Sara stared at the sink, there was her purple toothbrush, but its green companion was nowhere to be seen.

"There must be a ghost here or something," she muttered, rummaging in her toiletries bag, extracting a spare for her other half. "Here you go, I'll look for the other one when I get home later." Minutes later, after Gil had kissed her goodbye and left for class, Sara was washing her hands after applying moisturizer when she found that her chap stick was also missing. Glancing at the clock she yelped and hurtled through the rest of her routine, grabbed her bag and ran into the kitchen, summoning Hank in from the backyard. She checked the animal dishes and reached for the dish cloth to wipe the counter purely out of habit, but was unable to find it. Mouth open in shock she looked around before hurrying out to her car. Lucy was waiting for her; she would have to solve the mystery of the missing items later.

...

...

Agghh sorry for the delay, life just keeps getting in the way... Please R&R, i love it so much :)


	14. Chapter 14

Grissom laughed to himself as his freshman biology class made a beeline for the exit, chattering happily and moving on to their next lecture. Two girls lingered behind and approached the front of the room, where he was finishing gathering his notes and putting them back into his briefcase.

"How can I help you?" he asked, turning to them. They introduced themselves as Jessica and Olivia and asked for clarification about their next assignment. Patiently he walked them through what every member of the class had already assured him they understood, wondering why they had not spoken up earlier.

"So Doctor Grissom, did you really come all the way from Las Vegas to teach here for the rest of the year?" asked Olivia, when he came to the end of his explanation. His lips twitched as he realized what was going on here.

"Yes, I did," he replied.

"Won't you get lonely? So far from home and like, all alone?" asked Jessica, in a not-so-offhand manner. Grissom smiled and shook his head.

"No, I don't think so. My wife is pretty good company. Did you have any more questions about the assignment because I need to get going; I have a meeting in a few minutes."

"Oh, no, I think that's it, right Olivia?"

"Yeah, thanks," sighed the other girl. They left the classroom and Griss picked up his briefcase and walked out through the second door, shaking his head in amusement.

…

Sara finished laying out her new filing system and glanced at the clock. Turning up the ringer on the phone, she walked back to the surgery and knocked on the open door. Mariah looked up her desk and smiled, beckoning her in.

"Come to see Lucy?" she asked, getting up and walking over to the cages.

"How's she doing today?" asked Sara, leaning down to greet her new friend.

"Much better, but she has an infection that's resisting antibiotics."

"Will she get better?" asked Sara, worried as she stroked Lucy's nose gently.

"I hope so, but I can't guarantee it; her immune system is already compromised from poor diet and being mistreated."

"Poor thing," sighed Sara, straightening up. Walking along the row of mostly empty cages she listened to Mariah rant about the cruelty humans were capable of until she came to one that was occupied with a very forlorn looking black cat.

"Who's this?" she asked softly. Mariah came over and sighed.

"This is Socks; she came to us a month ago with her brother Smudge after their owner died. She was an elderly lady who died in her sleep. Unfortunately Smudge died a few days after they came here, and Socks has been lonely every since. She won't eat, and she won't socialize either. I don't know what we're going to do with her. She needs more love and attention than I can give her."

"May I try?" asked Sara, her hand on the cage door. Mariah nodded her assent. Easing open the cage door and talking softly and reassuringly, Sara offered her hand to Socks to sniff. The cat looked up at her and then cautiously sniffed her outstretched fingers. Sara smiled and waited as Socks thoroughly sniffed her hand before rubbing her head against Sara's palm.

"Hey there, I heard you might be feeling a little lonely all by yourself," she murmured softly. Socks stretched and got to her feet, walking toward the front of the cage. Sara ran her fingers over silky black fur, and observed the four perfectly white feet that must have given rise to the cat's name. Whispering softly she coaxed Socks in a relaxed and calm state, so much so that Socks stood up on her back legs and put her front paws on Sara's sweater, purring. Carefully, she scooped up Socks and cradled her against her chest, gently stroking her under the chin. Her reward was a deeper and louder purr that warmed her heart and made her soul smile.

"Well look at that," mused Mariah, "no one else has managed to get through to her in all the time she's been here." Sara blushed and stroked her charge.

"Sorry, I just wanted to say hello," murmured Sara.

"Oh its fine, I'm glad you managed to get through to her. I've been really worried." Glancing at the clock on the wall Sara sighed.

"I have to get back to the office." She moved to put Socks back in the cage, but the cat meowed pitifully and sank her claws into Sara's sweater, clinging on.

"Take her back to the office with you," suggested Mariah, "It's a closed room if you shut the hallway door and she'll probably just sleep on your knee if let her."

"Ok," agreed Sara, stepping away from the cage and carefully unhooking Socks' claws. For the next several hours Socks stayed curled up on her lap while Sara created a spreadsheet template to track monthly expenses, bills, wages, supplies and any other miscellaneous costs she could find in the ratty, over stuffed accounting books haphazardly stacked at the end of the desk with loose pages everywhere and invoices missing right left and centre. After working through the last month to test it out, she set about hunting down all the paperwork for the current month and bringing it up to date. With that done, she turned her attention to the ordering system; the shelter had no system of inventory and from her tour of the facilities and subsequent investigation of invoices, it looked like the lack of records were creating inconsistencies in ordering. She was completely absorbed in working her way through the mass of files littering the computer desktop, searching for missing bits of data to fill in the gaps in her progress so far when Candy sauntered in and dropped into the seat next to her, startling Socks.

"Hey Sara," she said, reaching for the phone messages. Stroking Socks soothingly, Sara smiled at Candy.

"Hi, how was school?"

"Good, but calculus still sucks." Sara laughed and closed the document she was reading. Turning to Candy she gathered a stack of labels and a pen.

"Did you finish your homework?" she asked, starting to write out the tabs on the hanging dividers for the new filing cabinet system.

"Yeah, but I got stuck on a few problems."

"Did you bring them with you?" asked Sara, carefully scrawling out the names of various suppliers as neatly as she possibly could.

"Yes ma-am," laughed Candy, spreading her homework over the counter.

"Ok, you fill these with the corresponding invoices," said Sara, handing the finished dividers to Candy and indicating a stack of invoices to the girl's left. "Most recent in front please, and I will talk you through these," she finished, indicating the sheet of problems as she continued to write out labels. An hour later they had finished filling the filing cabinet and had tackled a large amount of calculus, but Sara could tell Candy was still struggling.

"Do you have to leave now?" she asked sadly as the clock rolled over to four pm.

"I do," said Sara, gently lifting Socks from her lap into her arms. "I have my own homework to do."

"What?" laughed Candy, disbelievingly.

"I have writing commitments, and hungry animals to look after. And my husband will be home about five-thirty."

"What are you writing about?" asked Candy, curious.

"Theoretical Physics," replied Sara, smiling at the disgusted look on her friend's face.

"Oookkkaayyy," drawled Candy, giving the word several more syllables than it required. "Sorry I asked."

"What do you want to be then?" asked Sara.

"I'm waiting to hear from the New Hampshire Institute of Art to study Illustration."

"Good luck, when do you find out?"

"Soon. I can't wait, I'm really nervous."

"I remember the feeling well," smiled Sara, standing carefully with Socks in her arms.  
"Where did you go to school?" asked Candy, stretching her arms out over her head.

"Boston," said Sara vaguely. "Don't forget your book tomorrow if you want to do some more studying."

"Definitely. Thanks again."

"You're welcome, see you tomorrow."

"Later," waved Candy.

Sara returned Socks to Mariah, and felt her heart twist as Socks cried pitifully as the vet put her back in the cage.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she murmured sadly, petting the cat through the bars.

...

After over an hour of work on her paper, Sara stretched out on the bed with Hank to wait for Grissom. Without meaning too she slipped into a light, peaceful slumber. When Gil arrived home, half an hour later than he intended, he found Sara lying diagonally across the bed, snoring. Hank was curled by her feet and the kittens were draped over her legs. Wearing her favourite pair of lounge pants, and a thin long-sleeved, Sara's body was well defined and her pregnant curves were clearly visible. Smiling softly, Grissom sat next to her and skimmed a hand over her belly, marvelling over the miracle of life. Leaning down he kissed her gently, smoothing his fingers through her hair. Sara sighed and smiled into his lips.

"Hi," she mumbled, rolling into him.

"Hey," he replied, stroking her cheek. "How was your day?"

"Good, yours?" she yawned.

"Very nice. I seem to have a couple of admirers in my freshmen biology class," he laughed. Sara giggled as he told her about his morning. Their conversation continued as they made dinner, ate and cleaned up before moving to the couch, where they settled at opposite ends with their legs intertwined in the middle. Hank sprawled under the coffee table with Juliet lying on his paws. Romeo lay in Sara's lap as she sat with a notebook of physics ideas she was musing over. Gil was reading an entomology text.

"You haven't told me about your day yet honey," he commented, lowering book and peering down at her. Putting her notebook and pen on her knees Sara looked up at him, musing about her new organisational structures for a few moments. Burying her fingers in Romeo's soft fur she smiled gently before telling him about Socks, and how she had made a break through with the depressed cat.

"She's beautiful, and so loving," sighed Sara. "She just sat on my knees all day and purred contentedly. She was so unhappy when I went in to visit Lucy and I saw her, and when I had to put her back." Grinning, Gil watched her, thinking that she wasn't kidding back when they were investigating the miniature murders and she had told him she liked animals.

"So when are you bringing her home?" he asked knowingly. Sara's eyes snapped up from Romeo to stare at him, her mouth falling open slightly. "Oh come on dear, I know you very well by now. You can't resist animals in need. I know full well that if no one claims Lucy she'll be coming home too as soon as the waiting period is over. How long do you have to wait anyway?" he asked, wondering how long it would be before Hank had a playmate.

"Twenty- one days," said Sara, still staring at him. He laughed at her expression, and grabbed her legs, pulling her closer. Romeo gave him a dirty look and jumped up onto the back of the couch as Sara slid into Gil's lap. Stroking her cheek he gazed into her eyes and kissed her lightly.

"I don't mind having more animals," he murmured, playing with a strand of her hair. "But I do think we need to put a limit in place, at least until we decide where we're going to settle," he said, practically. Sara nodded, seriously.

"I don't think we're done travelling, and we can't move around with a menagerie. How about this is it for now?" she suggested. "Lucy and Socks and your racing roaches." He raised an eyebrow. "Oh come on Gil, I assume we're going to the Entomology Conference in San Diego this summer? You need roaches to compete in the races." She laughed at the expression on his face, as he tried to pass off his innocence. "I think I know a thing or two about you as well dear," she smirked, before leaning in for another kiss.

"Ok, that sounds like a good idea," he agreed, when they pulled apart. Sara turned around in his arms and lay back against him. "I like travelling, but I was wondering if you would want to stay in one place once this little one is here," he said, running a hand over her belly. Sara smiled softly at his touch as she closed her eyes.

"I don't know," she replied slowly. "It's very educational to travel, and I really enjoy it as long as we're together. I'm not sold on staying in one place permanently just yet. Are you?"

"No, but I think we need to consider what's best for you and the baby and all three of us as a family."

"I agree. I think we should re-evaluate when the time comes. We don't know what it's going to be like, what will be the best thing for us. I mean, we haven't exactly been conventional so far, have we?" she snorted. Gil laughed and traced his fingers up and down the side of her neck.

"Ok, we reassess the situation when the time comes. And yes, I was hoping we could attend the conference."  
"Are you speaking?" yawned Sara, snuggling into him.

"I've been asked," he replied.

"Let's go, but we have to go to the beach while we're there."

"Of course." He kissed the top of her head.

"Too bad I won't be able to surf," she sighed, linking her fingers with his over her abdomen.

"I won't go without you," he promised. That her husband surfed had surprised Sara no end, given his usual dislike of participating in sports. But upon her discovery and professed surprise, he had merely shrugged and noted that he too was from California.

"I love you," she smiled into his chest.

"I love you more," he grinned.

...

"Hey, did you find my toothbrush?" he asked later that night as they were getting ready for bed. She looked up from drying her face and shook her head.

"No, and this morning my chap stick was missing as well as the dish cloth. And now my scarf has gone too," she added, indicating the bed post where she had left it the night before. Puzzling it over, Gil pulled back the covers and got into bed while Sara brushed her teeth. Wandering back into the bedroom she grabbed a stray shirt and tossed in the direction of the laundry bin, smiling slightly as she scored a goal. She was just about to crawl into bed when she saw Gil's sock poking out from under the bed. Before she could get to it however, it vanished. Raising an eyebrow, she got down on her hands and knees to peer underneath.

"What are you doing?" asked Gil, sliding across the bed and leaning over to see what she was looking at. Their eyes fell on the sources of their troubles at the same time and they both began to laugh. Sitting in the middle of the floor under the bed was Romeo. He was surrounded by a pile of items, including the toothbrush, chap stick, dishcloth and scarf. As they watched, he settled onto a bed constructed of odd socks and a shirt Sara was sure she'd thrown into the wash. Still laughing, Griss pulled Sara into bed with him snuggled up with her. He could feel her shaking against him, trying to suppress her giggles.

"I can't believe it," she said at last, still trembling with mirth.

"You're raising a klepto kitten honey, I thought you'd teach him better than that," teased Grissom.

Sara dissolved into another fit of the giggles as Gil turned out the light.

...

...

Thanks for the beautiful reviews, i really appreciate your thoughts xxx


	15. Chapter 15

Sara scowled at her closed and inert laptop on the coffee table as she paced up and down the room in front of the window, repeatedly glancing outside in the hope of seeing her husband returning home. Socks and Romeo, now inseparable, watched her curiously from the couch where they were curled up together. Grissom wasn't late yet, but with her physics article finished and sent in, and her psychology paper stalled until she could get to the library, Sara had nothing substantive enough to occupy herself with until Gil arrived and it was time to go. Irritated with herself that she was getting so worked up, she stalked into the kitchen and scrabbled around for a snack. When the front door opened and her resident Bugman sauntered leisurely in she stood in the kitchen doorway and glared at him.

"Hey honey," he smiled, walking over and kissing her.

"You're late," she said flatly, taking his bag and dumping it on the table for him.

"No I'm not, we don't have to leave for another ten minutes," he soothed, recognizing her crotchety manifestation of nerves. He reached into the cabinet for a glass and filled it with water, his gaze falling on her snack as he pulled away from the sink. "What are you eating?" he asked, inspecting the food. Sara ran a hand through her hair distractedly. It was growing at record rate and curled impossibly, now a couple of inches below her shoulders.

"Oh, um... edamame," she answered distractedly, pulling her hair into the ponytail she currently favoured and Grissom secretly loved.

"Right, but what's on it?" he asked, cautiously sniffing the small dish.

"Peanut butter and ketchup," she replied, taking a mouthful and chewing appreciatively.

"That," he said emphatically, "is disgusting." He grimaced as she finished eating and put the empty bowl into the dishwasher. "And a first," he mused. "You haven't had any other strange desires relating to nutrition have you?" he asked as he followed her to the bedroom.

"No," she shrugged. "And I will admit it sounds awful when you say it, but it tasted beyond amazing."

"Whatever you say dear," said Gil as he changed out of his work attire and into jeans and a shirt. The weather had changed dramatically in the last week and a half; it was now pleasantly warm for most of the day, only requiring a jacket early in the morning and later in the evening. Sara brushed her teeth and grabbed a sports bag from the corner of the room. They walked out to the car, Sara hurrying more than was necessary in her nerves. Gil laughed to himself as he watched her toss the bag in the trunk and jump into the passenger seat. She had to be really nervous if she didn't want to drive, and it was so unlike Sara to be rattled that he found her behaviour endearing. Sliding behind the wheel he reached for her hand and squeezed it gently, before leaning over to give her a soft kiss. When he pulled back she gave him a rueful smile and tried to calm herself as they pulled out onto the road.

...

Twenty minutes later they were walking into the office of Doctor Amira Lenoir. While they waited to be seen, Gil remembered something he had wanted to ask Sara for a while.

"When did you teach Hank to shake hands?"

"I got really bored while you were in Peru," she grinned. "And I had the flu remember, and Catherine banished me from the lab until I got better." Gil laughed, remembering their Skype dates where Sara was so congested they had resorted to ASL to converse in order for him to understand her. "Anyway, there's only so much sleeping a girl can do. So Hank and I found other ways to amuse ourselves. I also spent a lot of time with Archie, learning some new tricks."

"Archie?" asked Gil, raising an eyebrow.

"It was that or Hodges, and I was more interested in computers."

"Point taken."

"Catherine got on my case about overtime, and I had passed my oral exams so I needed something to do."

"How about relaxing?" he suggested. Sara snorted unceremoniously.

"I was sleeping, swimming and running with Hank. I can't sit around and do nothing when you're not home," she admitted. "It's too quiet."

"Oh, sorry dear," he said softly, taking her hand and kissing it.

"It's ok," she grinned at him. "I also taught a seminar on the basic uses of psychology in a forensic setting." Grissom shook his head at her inability to be idle; he had known that she would not sit by when she agreed to some out here with him, but he also knew that she was utterly committed to the care and safety of their baby. The job at the animal centre seemed to be a perfect fit; it was mentally stimulating, it was a cause she believed in, it was not physically taxing or stressful, it did not keep the ridiculous hours of CSI and it was unlikely to take the emotional toll on her that their previous work had. Watching her fidget slightly in her seat next to him, Gil had to admit she had never looked better. She was happy and healthy, both physically and emotionally and it showed in her appearance; and Griss thought to himself that there was just something so sexy and sensual about knowing she was carrying their child. A nurse calling her name jolted him out of his thoughts and he grabbed her hand as she leapt to her feet and lurched forward.

"Relax," he murmured in her ear, "it'll be fine." Her response was to grip his hand tightly as they followed the nurse. After the standard vitals and details they waited for the doctor. Grissom sat on the table with Sara, rubbing her shoulders to try and calm her nerves. When Doctor Lenoir walked in, both of them felt immediately at ease as she smiled at them and greeted them in a rich, smooth voice tinged with a Canadian accent. She examined Sara, talked them through their history, and Sara's medical notes, asked and answered questions. Finally she pulled out a tube of gel and asked Sara to lie back on the table so she could take a look at the baby.

"Will we be able to find out the sex?" asked Grissom, absently playing with Sara's ponytail as they both stared at the screen, waiting for the image to appear.

"Well, it's eighteen weeks so it may be too early, but depending on whether the baby is feeling cooperative, there might be a chance." She moved the scanner around, taking notes and murmuring to herself. "Ok, here's the head and chest, that's an arm, and there's a leg and a foot. There's the other arm and, ok, yes I can tell you the sex." She looked at the couple who were both staring at the screen, their heads bent together in an intimate pose of delight and amazement. With misty eyes Sara pressed her hand to Gil's cheek and stared up at him, lost for words. Griss ran his fingertips over her jaw, his expression of adoration and devotion mirroring hers. Smiling to herself, the doctor switched off the machine and gently wiped the gel away from Sara's stomach while the couple composed themselves. When they were once again seated side by side, Sara leaning slightly into Gil, his arm around her waist, the doctor spoke.

"Everything looks fine at this stage, I see no problems. Keep doing what you're doing, resting, relaxing, plenty of fresh air but don't overdo things. Vitamins, healthy food, and I'll see you again in four weeks. Do you have any questions?" she asked.

"Just one," said Sara.

"Can you tell us," began Grissom. Amira smiled at them.

"It's a girl."

...

Sitting in the car Sara rested her head back against the seat and put a hand over her eyes, overcome with emotion. Gil stared alternately at the pictures in his hands and his wife, his eyes shining with awe.

"Let's skip swimming," suggested Sara. "Let's get some dinner and then go home. We can always go in the morning." Griss grinned and leaned over to kiss her cheek. Three nights a week, Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, they went swimming together. It was their favourite method of exercise and one they had set as a routine after initially moving in together. They found a quiet, cosy restaurant and settled into a corner booth. The sat next to each other, rather than their usual opposite, and spread the six pictures in front of them as they ate, marvelling at the clarity of the images and the perfection their love had created. Where they would usually have lingered over their meal, a habit borne of their time in Europe, they left soon after finishing their food, returning to the sanctuary of their bedroom. Curled on the bed together in their pj's they examined the evidence more carefully still, going over every detail the pictures showed them.

"What are you thinking?" he asked as she lay curled with her head on his chest.

"That this is so unreal, that I'm so happy I don't know what to do with myself, and that I'm more terrified than I have ever been in my life." Gil placed gentle kisses in her hair, shifting so they were lying facing each other.

"I feel exactly the same," he confessed. "What are you afraid of?" he stroked her arm as she closed her eyes, searching for words.

"That I'm going to do something wrong. That something will happen. That I'll lose her." Sara's voice caught on her last word. "We know now," she whispered, "and that makes all the difference. It was awful before, losing a child, two children. But now we have a daughter. We've seen her face, in remarkable detail, and I'm terrified that something will happen and we'll lose her and never get to meet her. I've always been afraid of turning into my mother, but I want this little girl so much and I know that I would never be capable of doing anything to harm her. But I'm petrified my body won't be able to hold onto her." Her expression was so anguished that Gil felt his heart ache deeply. He had no trouble believing that Sara would be a wonderful mother, and he had seen the torment in her eyes after both miscarriages. She was right, this time it was different; they knew they were having a girl and they had images they hadn't had before. He knew they were both irrevocably attached to this child, both because of what they knew and had seen about her, but also because of their previous losses.

"I'm afraid too," he murmured, "and for the same reasons. But also because I nearly lost you in the desert, and because I had to watch you suffer the aftermath without being able to help you. And because I was there both times in Europe, and I saw how ill you were in France when you had the surgery. I want her more than anything too, but I'm scared stiff of what could happen to you." He swallowed and Sara put a hand on his chest, her index finger tracing his collar bone. They stared at each other, reading each other's thoughts through their eyes.

"I think," said Gil slowly, "that we need to look at all the positives here. We're a week and a day safer that last time, and the doctor told us not three hours ago that everything looks fine, and she can see no problems." He took her hand, linking their fingers. Sara took a deep, calming breath. It was not like her to lose her rationality. She scowled internally to think that hormones were getting the better of her cool, collected scientific mind.

"You're right, I'm sorry," she sighed, kissing his fingers.

"I think we're both entitled to feel a little out of our depth here," he mused, as she rolled into him for a cuddle.

"Yes, and we know what we're supposed to be doing and we've already been doing it," she sighed, snuggling into him.

"Diet, vitamins, gentle exercise, relaxation, rest," he grinned at the last one and pulled the bed covers up and over them. "An early night never hurt anyone." Sara smiled and kissed him softly before nestling close to him and closing her eyes.


	16. Chapter 16

Sara was finishing some work on her system for tracking animal residents when Candy walked in at three pm. Her normal bubbly, happy air was missing, her pink hair was pulled back in a haphazard bun, and her eyes were bloodshot and heavy with tears threatening to spill over.

"What's the matter?" gasped Sara, panicked. Candy was unflappably happy and enthusiastic, seeing her so visibly distressed was shocking.

"I had a massive argument with my parents this morning," she sniffed, sinking into her chair and reaching for her log book.

"Why?" asked Sara, clicking save on her document and swiveling her chair to give Candy her full, concerned attention.

"If I don't get straight A's then they refuse to pay my tuition next fall, and I don't qualify for financial aide because they make too much money." Seeing Sara's slightly puzzled expression, Candy sniffed and continued. "My mom's an associate judge on the state supreme court and my dad owns a company that designs and manufactures pharmaceutical drugs. My older brother is an aerospace engineering genius and they think I should be too. They're not happy that I'm going to art school, so I have to have perfect grades to be allowed to go." Candy lost control and began to sob; alarmed, Sara reached out and hugged her, rubbing her back until she calmed down.

"I'm sorry," said the younger girl miserably.

"It's ok," soothed Sara, "Now why are you worried about not getting the grades? You told me you've always been a straight A student." Candy pulled a face and wiped her eyes with a tissue.

"Well, I've gone from a D+ to a B in calculus with your help, but unless I ace the final, I won't get an A."

"Not a problem," said Sara confidently, "we can deal with that. Anything else?"

"I'm borderline A- B+ in French. I missed a test because I was throwing up in the nurse's office and the teacher wouldn't let me make it up. He's a total asshole," she grumbled, "and my vocabulary isn't the greatest."

"Also not a problem," smiled Sara. "Well, the French vocab part, not the asshole teacher. Unless you want me to kill him and hide the body where no one would find it." Candy looked at her in disbelief.

"You speak French?"

"Mais oui," grinned Sara. "Friday is French day in my house." Candy raised an eyebrow in confusion. "My husband and I lived in Paris for a while; he had a tutor because he was teaching at the Sorbonne, but I grew up speaking French in school, I lived with a French family for a while too. So on Friday's we speak French, to keep from getting rusty."

"Didn't he learn French in school?"

"No, he took Spanish. We lived in Costa Rica before Paris, so I had to learn Spanish on the fly. I'm reasonably fluent now, but we practice a lot. He laughs at me," admitted Sara, smirking at Grissom's amusement at her original issues with Spanish pronunciation.

"Do you have a day for Spanish then?" asked Candy, intrigued.

"Thursdays," allowed Sara. She stood up to get a glass of water for each of them. "So," she said, returning to the desk, "when are final exams?"

"Next Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday."

"Ok then, are you free tomorrow night?" Candy grimaced,

"Of course, I'm not allowed out before exams, even on a Friday night." She snorted her disgust, "you'd think I was a little kid, not eighteen. Why?"

"Well, tomorrow is French day, you can bring your books and study calculus in French at my house."

"Calculus in French?" said Candy, a horrified expression on her face. Sara laughed.  
"Well, maybe not, but we can do both, not a problem." Suddenly Candy seized her in an enthusiastic hug, almost pulling her out of her chair.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," she chanted, grinning madly.

…

On Friday morning Sara rolled out of bed with a yawn as Griss got out of the shower and dried off.

"Hey sleepy," he grinned, kissing her awake.

"Sorry," she shrugged, "I just seem to need more sleep now." She stretched slowly and languidly, smiling as his eyes wandered over her bare skin. Leaning into his embrace she looped her arms around his waist they kissed long and unhurried.

"Shall we go out tomorrow? Take a picnic and explore somewhere?" he asked, as they drifted to the closet.

"Yeah. What time does your class end tonight?" she asked, as she reached for her toothbrush. With the summer quarter now underway, Gil was teaching a four week entomology seminar on Friday nights.

"Eight-thirty."

"And you're helping Candy study after work."

"Yeah. Do you want to get some dinner on campus before?"

"It's a date," he smiled.

"I'll meet you at your office about half four then," decided Sara. Gil slipped on his jacket and shoes and picked up his bag.

"See you later honey," he said, kissing her goodbye. "I love you."

"Love you too," she returned, knowing she would never get tired of those little words. With a yawn she got in the shower. It was as she was dressing that she ran into trouble. Pulling on her pants she found she couldn't zip them up.

"What the heck?" she muttered, trying to tug them lower on her hips. She still couldn't zip them up. She tried three more pairs before giving in and rummaging in her bathroom drawer for a hair tie. Scowling, she looped it through the button hole, fed one end back through the other to secure it and then looped the free end over the button. Satisfied she selected a loose shirt long enough to cover her pants past the zipper. This was going to be a problem; thinking about maternity clothes she sighed and finished getting ready for work.

…

Walking into Grissom's office for the first time, Sara looked around while his office mate, another professor in biology, jabbered away on the phone. There were books and papers everywhere, and the computer screen was surrounded in post-it notes. A framed photo of the two of them in a park with Hank was perched next to the coffee mug still containing the cold dregs from its last use. She smiled at the photo; it was one of her favorites too. Professor telephone hung up and looked over at her.

"He'll be back in a moment. Are you a student?" he asked, clearly thinking she was too old.

"No," she replied, taking a seat in the guest chair.

"I didn't think so," he mused, taking his time to let his eyes wander down her body and back up again. Pursing his lips in approval he stepped out from behind his desk and came over to shake her hand.

"Professor Michael Harrison, biological sciences." Suppressing the urge to slap him, Sara politely shook his hand and gave him a meaningless smile.

"Doctor Sara Grissom, forensic psychology and theoretical physics."

"Doctor Grissom?" he asked, suddenly uncomfortable.

"Yes, there are two of us Michael," said Grissom stiffly, walking in and giving his associate a withering look. "Hello dear," he said to Sara.

"Hey, you ready?" she asked, raising her eyebrow with her back to Professor Harrison. Gil reached for her hand and they left.

"What is his problem?" asked Sara, switching to French as soon as they were out of earshot of the office.

"He's disgusting," said Gil grimly. "I've asked to be reassigned to a new office space after the summer break."

"I can't believe he gets away with that," she muttered as the stood in line at the Courtyard Café.

"He's always professional with students," shrugged Grissom.

"He did ask me that, right before looking me up and down."

"I saw that," said Grissom, darkly. He heard giggling in the corner and looked around carefully. Smiling in amusement, he leaned closer to Sara and whispered in her ear, still in French, but just in case there were any other speakers around. "Over there in the corner by the plastic tree are my two freshmen admirers." Subtly scanning the area, Sara's eyes settled on the two girls in question who were outright staring at her now.

"Ok, that's a little weird," said Sara as they took their food and sat in a quiet corner, across the room from the two freshmen. They sat and ate, chattering softly, talking about the day. After a while the two girls came over.

"Excuse me Doctor Grissom," said Olivia, "when do we get our last assignment back?" As she spoke she peered curiously at Sara out of the corner of her eye. Jessica openly stared at her. Trying not to laugh, Sara smiled politely at her.

"Next week," said Grissom, also trying not to laugh. Wondering if he could dissuade any further pointless after class questions and lingering, he looked at Sara. "Sara, this is Jessica and Olivia from freshmen biology. Ladies, this is my wife, Doctor Sara Grissom."

"Nice to meet you," said Sara, biting her lip to contain her laughter as the two girls paled and seemed to wilt right there in front of her. "I hope you are enjoying his lectures," grinning wickedly, she added, "I always did." Olivia looked like she was about to say something, but Jessica forced a grin and nodded her head.

"Oh yes, Doctor Grissom is a very good teacher. The other Doctor Grissom I mean," she fumbled. Shaking her head, she grabbed Olivia's arm and nodded to Gil and Sara. "See you next week professor." The pair made a swift exit. When the door closed behind them Sara gave up and let her laughter loose. His lips twitching in amusement, Grissom raised an eyebrow at her.

"I'm sorry," said Sara, wiping tears from her eyes, "I couldn't resist." They continued their meal, and then Gil walked Sara halfway back to the house. Pausing behind a stand of trees he looped an arm around her waist and pulled her to him. Sara slipped her arms around his neck and with one arm firmly holding her body flush with his, Griss wound his other hand into her hair. Sara's lips were soft and gentle against his at first, but when he opened his mouth slightly she was lost, kissing him back with fury and heated passion full of need and desire. Groaning into her lips he suddenly realized where they were and pulled back, resting his forehead against hers.

"Honey, we're still on campus," he gasped, relaxing his arms so he was hugging her around the shoulders. He heard a muffled obscenity in his ear.

"You had better not linger after that lecture," she warned, her eyes dancing as she stared almost longingly at him. Kissing her gently he smiled.

"I have no intention to," he returned. With a sigh Sara leaned in to kiss him again before they broke apart to go their separate ways. Smiling to himself Gil walked back to his office, thinking about his lovely wife. When she had first become pregnant, he had been unsure about how he would feel about the changes in her body. But she positively glowed with radiance, and despite the fact that she required more sleep than usual, her increased libido and sensitivity was a mutual positive. Running her words through his mind, he was suddenly less enthused by his seminar than he had been when it had been proposed.

…

Sara sent an email to Greg and did a handful of small chores before Candy arrived bearing two thick text books and a backpack full of notes.

"Where do you want to start?" asked Sara as they settled themselves at the kitchen table.

"Calculus, that one is on Tuesday. French isn't until Thursday."

"Do you have a study sheet for the exam?"

"Yeah," said Candy, digging through her bag and producing a sheaf of stapled papers. Sara looked it over, noticing the C-C Peters scrawled across the top.

"Isn't Candy your real name?" she asked, pointing the writing. Candy rolled her eyes.

"No, and you can blame my mother for that. It's Candida-Camille Anastasia Peters."

"That's a mouthful," smiled Sara.

"I hate it, but my brother's name is worse." She started writing out the first of the problems she had circled in red pen. "Andreas Radcliffe Reginald Percival Peters V," she said.

"Seriously?" asked Sara, correcting a mistake and guiding Candy through the correct calculations.

"Yeah, my mother said that if my father was naming their son that, she was picking the girl's name."

"Wow. My parents each picked name; my mom liked Sara, my dad liked Anne."

"You have a sister? I've always wanted a sister."

"Oh, no. I'm an only child, it's Sara Anne. I did have four foster sisters though. We didn't get along. Ok, stop right there. What's wrong with that symbol there?" They continued on, studying hard and laughing together. Sara had long ago learned that making learning a fun experience meant that the lessons tended to stick. While Candy solved a particularly difficult equation Sara made tea for them both. Going to the back door she whistled for Hank, sending him out for a bit of exercise before he could start his mad half hour with Juliet. Back at the table, Candy presented her with the finished problem.

"Have you picked a name yet?" she asked, while Sara checked her work. Sara looked up at her, an eyebrow raised. Candy rolled her eyes.

"The baggy shirts are fooling the others, but they won't for much longer," she said bluntly.

"Oh," was all Sara managed.

"I haven't told anyone," said Candy, working away at her next challenge.

"Thanks," said Sara.

"So have you thought of a name?" Candy's pencil scratched away on the page as Sara's thoughts swirled uncomfortably.

"No," she replied softly, "we haven't discussed it."

"Do you know if it's a boy or a girl?" asked Candy, looking up and smiling.

"Yeah," admitted Sara, "she's a girl." Standing, she retrieved the pictures the doctor had printed for her and showed them to Candy.

"Wow," said the girl, pouring over the images, all thoughts of calculus forgotten. "That's amazing."

"It is," said Sara, with feeling, "it really is."

…

Sara was reading in bed when Grissom finally got home. She put her book aside as he crawled in beside her and they snuggled up together.

"Sorry I'm late," he murmured, "we had a spirited debate that refused to die down." Sara laughed as he regaled her with stories of his evening.

"So Candy made me think of something tonight," she said softly, when their conversation came to a lull.

"What's that?" he asked, his fingers stroking her hair. Sara twisted to look at him, her expression hesitant. "What are you thinking?" His touch was feather light as he caressed her cheek.

"We were talking about names," began Sara haltingly, "and I started wondering how long it's going to take until we feel safe to think about things like that, to go shopping and to, well, do things you need to do to get ready to be parents." Sara shut her eyes and took a deep breath, half waiting for something to go wrong. It was only when she felt Gil's fingers wiping her tears away that she realized she was crying.

"I don't know," he said quietly, his own eyes shining brightly. "But I absolutely know how you feel."

...

...

Hmmm, this one's a little rambling, but i'm indulging in some self amusement as i am currently stuck at home injured from an argument with a fridge no less. in my defense, it was of the rather large walk-in variety. never mind, being forced to relax has some benefits, chiefly the computer sitting on my lap for most of the day. hope you liked it, some Greg-Sara friendship coming up i think. please R and R, it makes me write faster.


	17. Chapter 17

Greg sat at his desk checking his email before shift started. Smiling he opened the first message waiting for him; he had been beginning to think his best friend had dropped off the face of the earth.

_To: ._

_From: _

_CC:_

_Subject: Hello from New Hampshire_

_Greg (and team)_

_I'm sorry it's taken me this long to send a message; we've been busy settling in and getting accustomed to life here. Gil is enjoying being back in the classroom, and has started a four week seminar in entomology this week and so is as happy as can be. He has even acquired seven new racing roaches to replace the last set that met an unfortunate end at his mother's house while we were in Europe. Our evenings consist of building a race track and trying to train the bugs ready for competition. There are no words to tell you how much I am looking forward to the conference later in the year._

_I also have a job, one I walked into rather than applied for. I have been redesigning the operational systems for an animal rescue centre; it's a lot of paperwork, but it's a puzzle to solve, and I love animals. Hank, Romeo and Juliet have settled in nicely, and in addition to the roaches, have two new playmates. Socks is a rescue cat I fell in love with at the centre, and Lucy, who will hopefully come home next week, is a injured greyhound puppy I found in a park and took to the centre, where I also rescued a fish from a very scary teenage boy and his equally terrifying mother. Shakespeare, nee Anthrax, now lives on the kitchen counter and is a source of fascination for Socks. _

_The scenery and weather are both beautiful, and we are staying in a small cottage on the edge of campus. It's very peaceful and seems strangely normal, whatever this is. Something to entertain you Greg; our first morning here I was up to my elbows in engine grease fixing our neighbour's truck. I don't have to tell you that Gil found this amusing as well! I think that's all I have for now, but I'm attaching a couple of photos of where we are._

_Miss you all, stay safe_

_Love G and S_

Greg clicked on the link to see a gorgeous photo of an idyllic cottage surrounded by fog and early morning light. Noticing the others outside the office, heading for the break room, he whistled and waved them in.

"Damn," said Nick, "Sara should be a pro photographer."

"Beautiful," agreed Catherine. Greg clicked on the next shot, and grinned. Sprawled on her stomach on the bed, Sara was reading a journal surrounded by Hank and three cats, one of which was draped over her shoulder, peering at her book. The final shot was one of Grissom walking in a park with Hank; they were passing under a leafy tree and were framed in the rays of light penetrating through the canopy above them. As the others filtered out, Greg hit reply.

_To: _

_From: ._

_CC:_

_Subject: Re: Hello from New Hampshire_

_So I do have a best friend after all _

_I love the pictures, and you're right, I am amused that you didn't even make it a full day before dismantling an engine. So, two weeks from now, I'm going to be in Boston for a three day weekend for a college friend's wedding. I have the first day to myself, not that I've mentioned this to Catherine of course. How are you fixed for company? Let me know,_

_Missing you a little more every day,_

_Love Greg_

...

Sara was working on invoices on Friday afternoon when the door to the office blew open and a jubilant Candy burst in, waving a sheet of paper in triumph. Sara took a step back from the filing cabinet just as Candy seized her in a furious embrace.

"Thank you," she whispered, tears in her eyes.

"I take it you got the grades," stated Sara, and Candy stepped back and wiped her eyes happily.

"I'm going to art school," she grinned, handing Sara her final grade printout.

"Well done," said Sara, examining the straight A report card. "When's graduation?"

"Tomorrow."

"Are you excited?"

"Very," agreed Candy, her eyes gleaming. Suddenly her expression changed and she darted back out the door, returning seconds later with a bag, which she handed to Sara. "This is for you, for helping me."

"Thank you," said Sara, touched. She opened the bag and reached inside, pulling out a mound of soft, deep purple fabric. Shaking it out, she discovered it was an impossibly soft cotton baby blanket, the front of which was covered with a hand drawn design stitched into the fabric. A tapestry of animals, ladybugs, butterflies and caterpillars surrounded beautifully worked flowers and leaves, and in the very bottom corner were a series of tiny letters scrawling Candy's signature. "You did this?" she gasped in awe.

"The design yes," confirmed Candy, "I had the stitching done."

"It's absolutely beautiful," sighed Sara, "thank you so much."

"I'm glad you like it," smiled Candy, helping Sara fold the blanket and put it back in the bag. "I have something else too," she giggled. "It's a little silly, but it made me think of you when I saw it." She handed Sara another smaller package. Sara pulled off the paper and started laughing. "I thought you could use them to teach her math, when she's old enough." Feeling an emotional tug in her heart, Sara suppressed tears and hugged Candy.

"I have something for you too," admitted Sara, reaching under the table for a wrapped gift. Candy tore the paper off to reveal a framed photograph of a golden retriever jumping out of a pond, both dog and the streams and droplets of water frozen in the air, the sun glinting off the shining surfaces of the water.

"I thought you could put it in your dorm room if you wanted," she shrugged, as Candy poured over the image.

"When," she began, thinking hard.

"Last Sunday, you were in the park with Sammie," said Sara, referring to Candy's beloved dog. "I was there with Gil and Hank and my camera. I saw Sammie before I saw you and I took the photo. I was going to come over and say hello, but Hank ran off after a rabbit."

"It's beautiful," breathed Candy.

"Happy graduation," congratulated Sara.

...

After work, and following directions from Candy, Sara made her way into town. Her first stop was a craft shop, where she spent quite a while make her choices. After that, she made her way, with resignation, to the maternity store and then the clothing section. Despite her best efforts, she could not make the modified fastening of her own jeans work any longer. Hating the idea that she would buy clothes that she would wear for a few months at most, she purchased two pairs of jeans and a pair of cut-offs. She could not bring herself to buy any shirts, and for the moment, she still had enough of her own that fit. Grimacing, she made her way home and settled at the kitchen table with her project.

...

Sara was so intent on her task that she didn't hear Gil come in and call her name. It was only when he peered over her shoulder and blocked a stream of light that was illuminating her work that she looked up at him.

"Hey," she said, putting down her needle and thread and standing up to kiss him.

"What are you doing?" he asked as they broke apart. Sara cocked her head to the side slightly, thinking about her project. With a soft smile she told him about her afternoon with Candy, and fetched out the blanket and magnetic fridge numbers.

"She kind of inspired me," admitted Sara. "I had a rag doll when I was a little girl, right up until I went into foster care. So I'm making one," she said, indicating the bits of fabric, yarn, thread, ribbon, buttons and needles spread across the kitchen table. Without warning Grissom tugged her into his arms and kissed her deeply, over and over. They were both breathless when he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers.

"I love you," he murmured in her ear before kissing her again.

"That's not the only thing I did today," she said, as he sat next to her and examined her work so far. When he looked questioningly at her she sighed and grumbled, "I bought some new pants." Gil started laughing at her expression.

"Why are you so adverse to maternity clothing?" he asked, trying to keep a straight face. She glared at him.

"I don't know, I just am," she muttered rebelliously. "I like my own clothes." Realizing there was no point in continuing the discussion with her, he changed course.

"Have you heard back from Greg?"

"Yes, he'll definitely be here. He should arrive around lunch time on the Friday and he'll leave the following afternoon."

"Have you eaten?" he asked, looking at the late hour, courtesy of his Friday night seminar. Sara shook her head, concentrating on setting a row of tiny stitches.

"Ok, what do you want for dinner?"

"How about grilled cheese?" she suggested, "I can't be bothered with anything else." Suppressing a smile at her mood, Gil got to his feet and kissed the top of her head, then went to change before he could laugh. By the time he returned to the kitchen and started getting things out for dinner, Sara had cleaned up her project and put it all in box out of the way of curious paws. Over a post dinner chess game Sara broached a subject she had been stewing over all afternoon.

"Are we going to set a time limit?" she asked. He swiped one of her peices and sat up to look at her. They were sat opposite each other on the couch, their legs intertwined and all three cats sprawled between them.

"I've been trying to focus on twenty weeks," he admitted.

"Me too," she said, thoughtful. "I was wondering though, if you've had any thoughts about names?" Glancing at the board she made her move. "Checkmate." Gil's eyes widened.

"Its twenty weeks today," he said slowly, his gaze locked on hers. "I may have caught myself considering possibilities, for a middle name."

"Just a middle name?" she asked. He nodded. "Same here," she admitted.

"Anne," he suggested.

"Emilia," she proposed, then frowned. "You want to use my middle name?"

"I like it. I like Emilia too."

"Ok then, possibilities." They smiled at each other, revelling in the liberation of the first steps toward believing in a truly good outcome. Sara stroked Socks as the cat crept further into her lap.

"I have a question," she said slowly, watching as he teased Juliet, tickling her paws. Gil looked at her, waiting. "I was wondering how you would feel about asking Greg to be her godfather?"

"Really?" Sara nodded, her expression serious.

"There is no one I would trust more, if something were to happen to us, to take care of her." She looked at him hesitantly.

"I agree," he said. "That is one thing I have been thinking about." Sara gaped at him, and they both started laughing.

"Wow baby girl," said Sara, a hand on her stomach, "You don't have a name yet, but you have a godfather."

"If he agrees," Gil pointed out.

"We can ask him when he gets here," she suggested. He nodded and yawned. "Are you tired?" she asked, surveying him. Reading her expression he shook his head.

"Not at all dear," he stated, reaching her hand and leaning forward to kiss her palm. He gently extricated himself out from under the pile of cats and then helped Sara to her feet. "Not at all," he continued, grinning wickedly as his lips found hers.

...

The following morning Sara opened her eyes and yawned slowly. She rolled over and looked for her husband. He was still fast asleep, muttering to himself. With a start, she realized he was dreaming about her, amorously. Glancing down the length of his body she giggled, knowing she had a golden opportunity on her hands. Moving slowly and gently, she kissed her way across his chest and neck. Using feather light touches, her fingers danced down his body, helping his arousal. His mutterings became more pronounced and she trailed kisses over his jaw and slipped into a straddle over his body. His eyes opened as their bodies connected; his hands flying up to grasp her hips as she began to move against him. Fully awake and gasping with pleasure, he gently flipped them over to increase their movement. Sara moaned with desire as he kissed her deeply, his tongue thrusting out to meet hers while his fingers massaged her breasts and nipples. Picking up his pace, he slid his hand further down their bodies, teasing her most intimate area, making her hiss with pleasure. Sara ran her hands down his back and over his rear, pulling him closer and closer. Sara plummeted over the edge, pulling him with her as he exploded inside her. They lay tangled together, sweaty, sated and exhilarated.

"Good morning lover boy," she gasped, laughing. Gil rolled her into his arms and kissed her thoroughly before releasing her.

"That was an amazing way to wake up," he mused, storing the idea away for future use. Trailing his fingers over her bare shoulder, he leaned up on his elbows so he could look down into her face. "How about we do some research today?" he suggested, his eyes locked on hers. Sara reached up and pulled him down into another impassioned kiss.

...

Several hours later they wandered down the fifth aisle of the store for the sixth time, pausing in the same place as last time.

"We're in agreement then?" said Sara, catching his gaze. He nodded, grinned, and looped his arm around her waist. "We need to pick sheets," she mused, as he took a ticket number from the display to put with the other one they had already agonized over. Over in aisle seven they found themselves again battling indecision, until Sara unearthed the perfect find. A soft green sheet set decorated with leaves that would complement Candy's blanket nicely. As they waited in line to check out, Sara noticed something else in Gil's hand and she resisted the urge to laugh out loud at the small plush green and purple caterpillar. They had debated, studied and discussed their options to the nth degree before reaching a few key decisions. The first was no pink, as neither was particularly fond of the colour and they didn't want to set a precedent. Second, the all in one car seat that went from newborn to toddler was the most practical, as was the equivalent crib to child size bed. Third, they wanted to be as practical and eco friendly as possible. Back at the house, Sara investigated the second bedroom while Grissom examined the contents of the car seat box, spreading it out over the bed. Sara decided that sliding the bed over to the wall would make plenty of room for the crib in the corner; turning to tell Gil her plan, she found him nose deep in the instructions, his glasses in danger of slipping off. Her lips twitching in amusement, Sara fetched the blanket, caterpillar and magnetic numbers. Since Greg would be staying the night soon, Sara put the smaller items in the car seat and then the whole lot in the closet. With a sigh Gil settled to some unfinished grading while Sara spread her doll making supplies out and began to work on the hands. She had been stitching steadily for almost an hour when a strange, fleeting cramp-like sensation made her yelp and drop her needle.

"What?" asked Grissom, his head snapping up. He saw her panicked expression and fear seized him instantly. "What's wrong? Sara what is it?" He leapt out of his seat and ran around the table, dropping to his knees in front of her and seizing her hands. "Sara, talk to me," he implored. She stared at him, a strange expression on her face.

"I think," she began, and then stopped, her eyes wide. Taking one of his hands, she pressed it to her stomach and waited. Moments later they both felt what had shocked her so much.

"Is that...?" he whispered. Tears in her eyes Sara nodded.

"Yeah, it is."


	18. Chapter 18

On Sunday morning Sara awoke feeling cold, tired and achy. Ignoring the sun peeking through a crack in the curtains, she rolled over and burrowed back into the bed, intent only on falling back asleep. Seemingly sharing her sentiment, Socks crawled under the quilt and snuggled against her back, her purr soothing against Sara's sore muscles. When Gil opened his eyes almost an hour later he glanced at the clock and sat up slowly. Looking at Sara he frowned in concern; she was unnaturally still and her skin was flushed a light pink. Resting his hand against her forehead he discovered she was feverish; she clutched the blankets tightly to herself, but the exposed skin of her neck and shoulder was covered with goose bumps. He got up carefully and dressed in slippers and sweats, tucking the covers tighter around his wife, before heading for the kitchen. He took his time with breakfast, feeding the animals, showering and the usual weekend morning chores before returning to the bedroom with a cup of tea.

"Sara," he murmured, stroking her hair gently. She whimpered slightly, but opened her eyes slowly and looked blearily up at him. "Hey honey," he soothed, "what's wrong?" She shivered and rested her cheek against his gentle hand.

"Sick," she muttered softly, her tone coloured with distaste.

"I brought you tea," he said, helping her sit up enough to take a sip. A muffled mew informed him of Socks' objections. He scooted up next to her and supported her with an arm behind her back, helping her finish the drink. "You have a fever," he noted, brushing her wildly untamed hair out of her face.

"Sore throat, headache, body aches, tired, cold," she ticked off, her voice a whisper but her expression getting more and more irritated with each word. Gil suppressed a smile as she finished the tea; there was no one who hated being sick as much as Sara, and no worse a patient than his wife.

"You stay here," he said gently, "I'll do the grocery shopping and run the errands. I'll leave Hank in the yard so he doesn't keep you awake, jumping on you." Normally Sara would protest at even the slightest hint that she needed to rest, but today she just nodded and leaned into his embrace. He kissed her temple tenderly, then tucked her in, smiling when Romeo and Juliet clambered onto the bed and snuggled up with her as well. She was asleep before he even made it out of the room. When he returned, almost three hours later, she was curled in a ball in the middle of the bed with Socks pressed against her chest, Romeo crammed against the back of her neck and shoulders and Juliet curled into the back of her knees.

...

Monday was not an improvement on its predecessor. Sara snuffled, sneezed and coughed through until one o'clock when Candy decided enough was enough and got Mary to send her home. Sara slept until Gil got in, then forced herself to get up, eat dinner, do some laundry and read for a while before giving in and going back to bed. Tuesday followed much the same regime. By Wednesday afternoon the coughing, sneezing and copious amounts of slime flowing from her nose were still present, but the aches, pains and tiredness were gone, along with the fever, headache and pressure behind her eyes. By Thursday evening she was down to the occasional sneeze and nose blow. Cuddling up with Gil on the sofa to watch a movie she sighed with pleasure, overjoyed to be feeling almost her normal self.

...

Friday morning dawned and the alarm went off, summoning Gil from slumber. Groaning he smacked the off button and sat up slowly, sure he had only just gone to sleep. Sara yawned, stretched and slid out of bed carefully, mindful of the three fur balls draped across her legs. Pulling on her robe she headed for the kitchen as Gil stumbled into the shower. Feeling wonderfully restored to health, Sara dug out the waffle maker she had found in the pantry and set to work chopping fruit. When Gil walked in, struggling with his tie, Sara was dishing up strawberries and blueberries on top of golden brown waffles. He stopped and raised an eyebrow.

"I feel wonderful," she sighed with pleasure, taking over for him and deftly securing his Windsor knot. Smiling at her enthusiasm, he sat down and sipped a mouthful of morning blend tea. Half an hour later, as he walked out the door he felt a scratch in the back of his throat. He dismissed the feeling, thinking about his morning plant biology class.

...

Having traded the day with Candy, Sara launched into the handful of chores that had gone undone over the last week while she had been sick and Gil had looked after her and dealt with an excess of grading that he had somehow managed to accrue. When Sara had joked that he wouldn't have so much student paperwork if he didn't give so many assignments, he had mock scowled at her and given her a stack of exams to correct. With the spare room ready for Greg and the cottage tidy, Sara ambled outside at around a quarter to twelve to play with Hank and Lucy, who had finally joined them the day before, infection free but still sporting a cast on her leg. Sara sat on the porch, watching the dogs chase each other around by the fence next to the garage, before being distracted by a bird sitting on the other side of the fence next to the car. Sara laughed as both dogs assumed identical watch positions, their attention locked on the pigeon, pecking at the ground by the tire. Lucy was still a puppy, and dwarfed by Hank because she was still undernourished from abuse, but even with a cast on her leg she was energetic and curious about everything. She had waltzed up to Hank and sniffed him all over before apparently deciding he would do and flopping down in his basket with him. Her introductions to her feline housemates had been more striking. Juliet did not take kindly to the sniff examination, and had smacked the puppy across the nose with her paw before stealing the squeaky toy Sara had brought home with Lucy. Socks had looked up from the couch and regarded the newcomer with an owlish expression before putting her head back down and resuming her nap, clearly not bothered by non-human intruders, and Romeo had been overjoyed to find a new wrestling partner. Within half an hour all five four legged members of the household were getting along happily and Sara had breathed a sigh of relief. Watching the dogs now, Sara was filled with a happy, warm sense of comfort. Resting her elbows on her drawn up knees, Sara leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her skin. Despite her best intentions she must have nodded off, because the next thing she was aware of was a car door slamming and the cheerful yell of her best friend.

"Sara," shouted Greg, blowing through the gate and hurrying over to her. She got to her feet just as he threw his arms around her. "Wow," he gasped, letting go of her and stepping back to stare.

"Yeah," she smiled self-consciously. Her maternity jeans and dark green shirt clearly showcased the fact that she was now twenty-three weeks pregnant.

"Wow, no way," gaped Greg, his mouth hanging open like a guppy.

"Yes way," she said wryly. Greg tried to find something to say, failed, and gave up, hugging her again. Greg fetched his bag and they moved inside after he took a few moments to greet the over excited dogs. Sara put the kettle on to make tea while Greg went to the bathroom and freshened up. They settled in the living room with tea and pita bread stuffed with stir-fried vegetables.

"So how are you?" she asked, curling her legs to the side and balancing her plate on her legs. Socks, never far away in her nervous nature, curled up on her feet. Both Romeo and Juliet sat on the arm of the chair, watching Greg as he ate, waiting for him to finish and give them his attention.

"Fine," he said, watching the twin kittens out of the corner of his eye, a little weirded out by their identical poses and expressions. "My publisher is interested another book. I have a meeting with them next month."

"That's great," grinned Sara, her lips twitching with amusement at the expression on his face as Romeo and Juliet continued to watch him. "They'll wait for you to finish eating," she said, laughing. "They know they're not allowed human food, but they're ridiculously obsessive when they want something."

"You're animals are picking up your OCD?" asked Greg, snorting. Sara gave him a dirty look. "So what are they waiting for?" Sara rolled her eyes.

"You're attention."

"And she isn't?" he asked, pointing to Socks. Sara smiled and gently tickled the soft black fur behind Socks' ears.

"Socks is very shy, and very attached to me," she said softly. They finished eating over a discussion of how the team was doing and then put their plates aside. Shifting so her legs were stretched out on the couch, Sara settled Socks in her lap and looked at Greg, expectantly. He didn't disappoint. Despite the fact that the moment he put his plate on top of hers on the coffee table Romeo and Juliet pounced on him, Greg fixed his eyes on her pointedly.

"Are you going to make me wait any longer?" he demanded, "I think I've been patient enough in the wake of such earth shattering news." Sara giggled as Socks stretched lazily on her legs, despite Greg's voice rising steadily through several decibels. "When are you due?" he asked.

"November seventeenth," said Sara. "I'm twenty-three weeks today."

"Wow, I can't believe this," said Greg, trying to appease both kittens at once. "I cannot picture Grissom having kids. Or you, for that matter."

"Thanks Greg," scowled Sara. She smirked when Romeo abandoned her friend and leapt over to the couch to join Socks on Sara's legs.

"Sorry, that kind of came out wrong. I just insanely surprised. I never imagined you two would be parents." He looked at her, really looked, and noticed that she had never looked healthier. Her skin and hair were radiant, her demeanour relaxed and happy, her expressions and aura positively glowing. "I'm excited for you though," he grinned. "I'm going to be an uncle." Sara smiled at him, thrilled at his enthusiasm.

"We're both pretty excited too," she said softly, resting her hand on her stomach as she felt the baby kick her.

"Do you know what it is yet?" he asked, his eyes bright.

"Yeah, she's a girl," smiled Sara.

"Cool," Greg practically squealed, upsetting Juliet. She swiped a paw across his hand. Sara could already see the wheels turning in his mind.

"No pink," she warned. "And no hair dye until she's at least thirteen."

"Have you got a name yet?"

"Nothing concrete."

"Are you going to share?"

"No." Greg pulled a face at her. Then a massive grin lit up his face.

"Catherine is going to freak out. Oh, I bet Betty loves you now huh?" His eyes danced with laughter as he thought about Sara's mother-in-law and the tough relationship barriers she had put in place.

"Betty doesn't know," said Sara quietly, stopping him before his imagination could run away with him.

"What? Why? This is like relationship gold for you two."

"Greg, no one knows. Just my boss, a couple of co-workers who only found out in the last couple of weeks and my doctors."

"Why?"

"Risks," said Sara simply. Concern flashed across Greg's face.

"Are you ok? Are you in danger?" he asked, worried. Sara smiled softly at him. He was her best friend; surely she could share with him.

"I'm fine," she promised. "But I've had two miscarriages before this pregnancy, so we've been very concerned."

"What happened? When?" Greg's expression was a mixture of sadness, confusion, worry and thoughtfulness, as though he was trying to figure out the missing pieces in a puzzle.

"We were in France the second time," she said quietly, "and there were complications. The doctor's thought it would be next to impossible for me to conceive again so we gave up. And now we're here," she smiled.

"So you're not telling anyone?" he asked, wondering how they were keeping something so huge a secret, before reminding himself that it had been years before anyone had known that Sara and Griss were even a couple.

"No," Sara was firm in her decision.

"Why me?" he asked, curious.

"You're my best friend. I wanted to see you, and I trust you to keep your mouth shut," she grinned at him, and he laughed at her, pantomiming looking his lips and throwing away the key.

"Will you keep me updated?" he asked, all serious now, hints of worry in his expression. Sara nodded.

"Of course. Everything looks fine so far though," she sighed stretching out along the length of the couch. They lapsed into contented chatter, covering all of their usual topics, catching up and generally laughing with each other. Greg was poring over the sonogram pictures when Sara's phone buzzed and she picked it up to retrieve a text message. Greg couldn't help but marvel over the changes in her. He watched her face light up when she saw who the text was from, and then saw concern shadow across her features and she read. Finally, her lips twitching with amusement, she turned to him.

"How would you like to go to Gil's entomology lecture tonight?" she asked.

...

...

Please R&R, i love to know your thoughts


	19. Chapter 19

Gil was sick, there was no denying it. By the time he finished his ten to twelve lecture, his throat was so sore that it refused to emit another sound. His head pounded, his sinuses ached sharply and his nose was blocked. With a sigh he made his way to the student store, in search of medicine. Once he was well dosed and able to carry on with his day, he turned to his larger problem. With no voice, he could not lecture tonight at the seminar. He sent an email to administration, asking if there was an ASL interpreter available to help him out that night. An hour later he got his reply and scowled at the computer; no one was available. He could not postpone the lecture because it was only a four week class, and he definitely couldn't deliver the lecture verbally. With a sigh he reached for his cell phone, hating to disturb her when she was hanging out with Greg.

_Sara, I've lost my voice lecturing. No ASL interpreter available tonight, would you do me the honour? _Moments later he received a reply.

_Of course, Greg can't wait _

...

Before they left to meet Grissom in his office, Sara changed into full length jeans and a longer, more formal but still fitted shirt, wishing she had something more professional to wear that fit her. When she walked into the office and caught sight of her husband Sara felt her heart sink. He was pale and looked tired.

'Hey,' she signed, before Greg followed her in. 'I'm sorry you caught the bug honey. Are you feeling really bad?'

'Nothing a good night's sleep won't help. Thanks for doing this.' Gil stepped out from behind his desk and wrapped her into his arms. Pulling back he smiled at their visitor.

'Hi Greg, how are you?' he signed, with Sara interpreting.

"I'm great thanks. How about you? Aside from being sick?"

'Wonderful,' replied Grissom, slipping an arm around Sara's waist and kissing her temple. Greg smiled,

"Congratulations, both of you," he said, suddenly seeing how truly perfectly they complemented each other.

"Thank you," said Sara as Grissom signed the same phrase. They looked at each other, agreement passing thorough their gazes.

'Greg, we have something to ask you,' said Grissom, before nodding to Sara to continue.

"Ok," said the CSI, suspicious. Sara absently put a hand on her belly, rubbing it gently as the baby kicked her.

"Would you like to be her godfather?" she asked. Greg's mouth fell open as delight coursed through his body.

"Are you sure?" he enquired, a smile lighting up his whole face.

"Very," said Sara, taking Gil's hand in hers, "there is no one we would trust with her life more if something were to happen to us."

"I would be honoured," said Greg, deeply touched. Their moment was ruined by Michael Harrison waltzing into the room and stopping short, his gaze roving over Greg, and then Sara, his eyes widening perceptibly as he took in her the changes in her anatomy since the last time he had seen her in a loose fitting, concealing shirt.

"Well well," he said, his voice sickeningly oily, "if it isn't the other Doctor Grissom."

"Hello Professor Harrison," said Sara flatly. Greg narrowed his eyes as the newcomer very obviously checked out Sara's body, then greeted her snarkily. He held out his hand politely.

"Greg Sanders."

"Michael Harrison."

'We need to go,' Gil said to Sara, picking up his bag and ignoring his office mate.

...

Greg settled himself in the back row, watching as other students filed into the lecture theatre and took seats, talking among themselves. Grissom and Sara stood in the corner by the computer. Gil set up his presentation, chatting with Sara about the day.

'Do you feel really bad?' she asked, concerned.

'I think tomorrow will be worse,' he allowed. Reaching into his briefcase he pulled out a bottle of water and handed it to her. 'You'll probably need this, it's a lot of talking I'm afraid.'

'Thanks,' she smiled softly and, with her back to the room, blew him a kiss.

'Are you nervous?' he asked, watching her closely. Sara grinned.

'Terrified,' she replied.

'I'm sorry,' he sighed, 'You'll be fine, I promise. Having the weekends as ASL days have helped tremendously. You sign like a native speaker now.'

'Thanks,' she said, taking a deep breath and a sip of water.

'You ready?' he asked, cueing up the projector and picking up the clicker and his notes.

'As I'll ever be,' she nodded, clipping the roaming microphone to her collar and following him up to the podium. Greg watched with interest as the room grew silent with anticipation as Grissom settled his notes and then began to sign fluidly, standing at a slight angle so Sara could clearly see him.

"Good evening," she said, her soft tones washing over the audience. "This is Doctor Sara Grissom who will be interpreting for me tonight because she has kindly shared her cold with me, causing me to lose my voice." A wave of laughter rippled through the crowd and despite her nerves, Sara smiled in amusement. As Gil launched into the lecture, Sara was surprised that she was easily able to keep up with him and deliver the translation without a mistake. When he called for a halftime break Sara walked over to the computer desk in the corner and sank into the chair, sipping her water.

'You ok?' he asked, following her. Sara capped her bottle and put it on the desk.

'Fine,' she grinned. 'Adrenalin rush! I didn't think I would be able to keep up with you.'

'You were wonderful,' he signed. Moving so his back was to the rest of the room, he added, 'and if we were at home right now I would kiss you senseless.' Sara laughed and winked at him.

'If you're feeling alright when we do get home, I'll hold you to it,' she replied, waving Greg over to join them.

"Well," said Greg as he reached them, "if Nick knew I was here right now he would be so jealous." Grissom shrugged and signed a reply. Sara giggled as she interpreted.

'Are you paying attention so you can show him up at your next insect infested crime scene?'

"I came prepared," confessed Greg, whipping a small note book out of his pocket and handing it to Grissom, who perused his notes.

'Very thorough,' he complemented.

"Am I your best student?" asked the ex lab rat, smirking.

'Oh no,' replied Grissom, 'I married her.' Sara's mouth fell open when she realized what she'd said and she elbowed him lightly. He laughed in response and signed, 'I love you honey.'

'Love you too Bugman,' she replied, her eyes twinkling with amusement. Greg watched their exchange, reading their expressions and musing to himself not for the first time just how much in love they seemed to be, and how much more at ease they were with themselves and the world around them since the awful days following Sara's abduction. Even though he could not read their conversation, he had an idea of what they were saying to each other.

'Do you have any questions so far?' asked Grissom.

"Nope," said Greg, "I think I'm following pretty well, considering I'm here mid course. I just wish I could rub it in Nick's face that I was here next time he sends me on a decomp." Sara giggled and stretched her legs out in front of her, twisting slightly from side to side, hoping to loosen up her back muscles. Standing still for so long wasn't as easy as it would have been a few weeks ago.

'You ok?' asked Gil, concern etched into his expression.

'Yeah, just a little sore.'

'I'm sorry, thank you for doing this.'

'My pleasure, it's been fun, and educational.' Seeing Greg's look of concentration Sara sighed.

"I'm sorry Greg," she apologised. "I forgot. I was saying that my back is sore but it's been a pleasure to help out tonight. I can't believe how much I've improved," she added.

"I'm impressed," grinned Greg. "I bet mama Grissom is too." Sara snorted and rolled her eyes.

'She is,' said Grissom. With a sigh Sara agreed.

"She is part of the reason I've improved so much. But we use ASL most weekends," Sara told Greg. "We have language days, to stay in practice." Greg looked at Sara and then Grissom, slightly confused.

'We speak only French on Fridays, only Spanish on Thursdays and ASL on the weekends,' clarified Grissom.

"Doesn't that get confusing?" wondered Greg.

"Not really," said Sara, "it can be funny though. We have a rule that if we can't remember or we don't know a word, we have to describe it in that language until the other guesses and gives the answer." To her surprise Greg burst into laughter, his eyes crinkled in amusement.

'What?' asked Grissom. Greg struggle to get a hold of himself.

"The guys in the lab all had these bets on about just how geeky you two are when you're together. They think you play weird mind games and spend all your time reading science texts and Shakespeare." Seeing their bewildered looks Greg felt his laughter bubble up all over again. Sara and Gil stared at each other; Sara's lips twitched and Gil's eyes twinkled.

'Well, we do read science and Shakespeare. We also play mental chess, word games and 'weird mind games,'' Gil informed him.

"And we watch movies, and go out walking with Hank. We do some normal things," said Sara, thinking that the lab rats would probably think their quiet, peaceful life was completely boring. Greg was still laughing at them as the students began to file back into the hall; he hurried back up to his seat. By the time the lecture ended and Sara spent twenty minutes interpreting for student questions, Grissom was shivering and thoroughly exhausted. The trio made their way back to the cottage, Greg smiling to himself over the way his friends walked hand in hand, like an old married couple. A stampede of animals awaited them when they walked in the door; Greg took Hank and Lucy out into the garden with a ball while Sara made tea and Grissom went into the bedroom. Sara took him a drink, and found him sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.

"Hey, what's wrong?" she asked, concerned as she put the cup on the bedside table.

'I feel really lousy. I just want to go to bed, but I feel guilty because Greg's here,' he replied wearily.

"Don't worry about it," she said softly, kissing his forehead. "Go to bed, sleep and you might feel better tomorrow. I'll get the Nyquil for you. Greg and I will go and see a movie or something." Sara fetched the medicine and stood over him while he took it, making sure he did. While she acknowledged that she was a terrible patient, he wasn't much better. She extracted his phone from his trouser pockets and put it next to the tea while he slipped out of his clothes and into bed. As if he magically sensed someone on the bed, Romeo was there in seconds, curling up with him.

"You look after him for me," Sara said to the cat. Turning back to her husband she kissed his cheek. "Call me if you need anything," she said gently. He nodded sleepily and closed his eyes, succumbing almost immediately to slumber.

"What's with the tea?" asked Greg as he came back into the cottage and Sara handed him a mug.

"I had to stop drinking coffee, and I was craving it like crazy so we cut it out completely. Now I can't stand it, just the smell makes me want to throw up." Greg wrinkled his nose.

"Have you been doing much of that?"

"Throwing up? Not really. Mostly I sleep really well, which is nice after years and years of insomnia."

"You? Sleep?" said Greg in disbelief. Sara giggled.

"I do what my body tells me too, and my husband."

"You do as you're told?" he asked, even more shocked.

"I was dead on my feet when he came back from Peru. That's when we found out; he made me go to the doctor because he was so worried. That was a serious shock, especially since I was thirteen weeks and I had no idea."

"Hell of a homecoming present for Grissom," laughed Greg. Sara grinned and nodded.

"Yeah, well he was jetlagged, and I was on the point of collapsing from exhaustion, so it worked out pretty well."

"I'll bet it did," said Greg suggestively, waggling his eyebrows. Sara rolled her eyes and flicked a grape at him from the fruit bowl.

"I have to confess, and if you ever tell anyone I said this I will exact the harshest of punishments I can come up with for you," she threatened, looking closely for any sign that he might break their confidence, "that having a normal routine and schedule of hours is wonderful. I couldn't keep CSI hours now, I get too tired." Greg doubled over in mirth.

"I cannot believe," he gasped, "that Sara Sidle just told me she gets tired and could not keep the hours she set all the records for." Sara glared at him, lips twitching.

"That's Sara Grissom," she informed him. Greg's mouth dropped open.

"Weren't you listening tonight?" she asked as she drained her mug and put it in the dishwasher.

"Grissom introduced you as Doctor Sara Grissom. I thought that was just for fun." Sara shook her head.

"No, that's my name; it's all legally changed now. I only put the Sidle in there, hyphenated of course, when I'm writing something academic, to avoid confusion, and because all my work until recently is under my maiden name."

"Oh, ok. So what now? Are we going to do something?"

"How about a movie?"

"What's playing?"

"No idea, I thought you'd know." Greg rolled his eyes at her.

"No, sorry. We could just go and find out," he suggested.

"Yeah, I'm driving this time though," she said, grabbing her purse and keys off the counter. Laughing Greg followed her out. Some things never changed.

"What?" she asked as they got in her Prius.

"Nothing."

"Yeah, right!"

"Ok, I was just musing over how much you've changed, but how much you're still you," he confessed. "I like it, it suits you."

"Thanks," smiled Sara, touched. She reached across to his seat and gave him a sideways one armed hug.

"I've missed you," she said, sitting upright again, but not before messing up his artfully untidy hair. He batted her hand away and stole her purse, tossing it into the back seat.

"I've missed you too," he snickered, pulling the clip out of her hair.

...

Gil sighed and opened his eyes slowly, taking inventory. His sinuses were clear, his headache was gone. His body temperature appeared normal and his throat was no longer being scored by knives. While he didn't feel one hundred percent, he was pretty close. Frowning, he looked at the clock and realized he had slept for over ten hours. Rolling over his gaze fell on his lovely wife. Sara was curled onto her side, facing him, her hair was a tornado around her face and her expression was peacefully oblivious to the thunderous snoring coming from the bedroom across the hall. He lay there quietly, watching her and stroking Juliet, who had crawled up from his feet when he moved. Sara's lips curled into a smile.

"You're staring honey," she murmured, her eyes still closed.

"I can't help it," he whispered in her ear, leaning forward to trail kisses along her jaw, before meandering up to her lips.

"You're feeling better," she sighed happily.

"Much," he replied, running his finger tips up and down her arm, tracing feather light designs.

"Figures," she yawned, opening her eyes. "I'm sick for a week and you get over it in one good night's sleep." She stretched slowly and luxuriously; the blankets slipping down her body to expose an expanse of creamy skin and a hint of cleavage. "Greg should see a doctor," she mumbled, as he kissed her neck lightly, before moving to her collar bone where he grazed his tongue over her skin. Sara gasped and pressed her head back into the pillow.

"He does sound like he's being tortured," mused Grissom, listening to the dreadful racket their sleeping visitor was making. Blocking out the sound, he returned his attention to his assault on Sara's skin. Kissing his way across her shoulder he nibbled her flesh lightly and worked his way back up to her lips, drawing her into a long, slow and sensual kiss. When he pulled back her eyes were glassy and her heart was hammering under his palm. Smiling when she pulled him on top of her and let her hands roam over his skin, he pulled back slightly, not wanting her to go too fast. Spotting her scarf hanging on the bed post he grinned wickedly at her and gently pushed her hands up above her head. Using the scarf, he loosely tied them together, taking in her shocked yet impressed expression. His face hovering inches over hers, he stared down into her eyes.

"No moving, no touching me, no talking, no sound," he whispered sensually, tracing her eyebrows with a finger before waiting for her to acknowledge his rules; she nodded, eyes wide. Gil traced her lips with his finger, his touch lighter than a feather. Moving down her neck, he ran his thumb over her collar bone, letting his fingers absently trail along behind, feeling deep satisfaction from the erratic changes in her breathing. Sara fought valiantly to remain still as his hand slipped lower, skimming over her chest to trace the curves of her breast and then tease her nipple. Gritting her teeth she locked her limbs in place as his repeated his movements on the other side of her torso and just when she was about to lose it and scream at him to stop teasing her, his lips fastened over hers in such a passionate, prolonged and all encompassing kiss that she was rendered completely incapacitated in his arms. When he abruptly ended the kiss and moved to her neck, before allowing his lips to follow the earlier path of his fingertips, Sara bit her lip to keep from growling at him.

It took every ounce of self control Sara possessed not to arch her back and press into him when Gil swirled his tongue around her nipple and suckled. He waited until she was about to crack before moving his lips back up to her neck where he lingered, slowly and delicately, before returning equal attentions to her other breast. Sara curled her fingers around one of the posts of the headboard, gripping it tightly as he moved further down her body, his breath hot against her aching centre. Her knuckles turned white as he slowly, gently and sensually employed his fingers, lips and tongue to bring her to an earth-shattering climax. He moved slowly back up her body, kissing and caressing her gently until he reached her face, where he brushed her sweaty curls away from her eyes and gently kissed her eyelids. Sara opened her eyes and gazed at him, her eyes glassy. She opened her mouth to speak, but he put a finger over her lips and shook his head; she glared at him, disbelievingly, so he silenced her with a deep and fiery kiss and moved his body over hers. Abandoning his game, Sara slipped her arms out of the scarf and wrapped them around his back as his arms slid under her shoulders. Sara hooked her legs around his and pulled him tightly to her as he slipped deep inside her. He was slow and deliberate, driving her to the edge of reason before pulling back and letting things slow down. At the end of her sanity Sara pressed her lips to his with fervour, kissing him senseless, as he had so put it the night before. Unable to resist her, he gave in to her desires and they tumbled over the edge together in a frenetic tangle of arms, legs and emotional kisses. Collapsing against her, Gil rolled onto his back, taking her with him so she was curled into his chest.

"My God Sara," he whispered into her ear. "The things you do to me," his voice was heavy, thick with lingering passion and spent desire. Sara's response was to snuggle closer to him and softly kiss his lips. It was Greg that brought them out of their hazy glow, forcing them back to reality as he gave a tremendous, shuddering snore that caused even the most devoted of lovers to rouse from their shared place of serenity. Sara giggled into Gil's shoulder as he sighed and held her closer.

"Unbelievable," he sighed, stroking her shoulder and wishing for a few more minutes of peace and quiet. He had just closed his eyes again when Juliet scrambled up on the bed behind him and pounced, landing firmly on his shoulder and chin, meowing loudly in protest that breakfast was late. Sara started to laugh again as he muttered curses under his breath.

...

...

Thank you for the wonderful, kind, thoughtful reviews; it is truly a pleasure to have such amazing reactions to my work. please enjoy and keep sending me your thoughts, it makes my day :)


	20. Chapter 20

Sara and Candy sat in the office bouncing ideas off each other for a fundraiser when they heard the sound of the side door slamming and muffled swearing. Mary came stumping into the office muttering under her breath.

"What's wrong?" asked Candy, concerned. Mary paused in the doorway of her office, a scowl on her face.

"The truck won't start, and I have to pick up some horses this afternoon."

"May I have a look?" asked Sara, eager for something fun to do. Candy and Mary stared at her, shocked. Sara shrugged. "I like working on cars," she said, stretching her legs out in front of her. Now twenty-six weeks pregnant, and blatantly so to all of her co-workers, Sara was tired of being fussed and cooed over. Her regular phone conversations with Greg provided her friend with much amusement as she vented her feelings about being treated like a ball of cotton wool by a group women emanating pure estrogen. Mary tossed her keys to Candy as her phone rang. But before answering it, she said

"Keep an eye on her," as she gestured to Sara. Candy giggled as they made their way out to the truck, Sara grumbling about being able to take care of herself. Having become good friends with the team, Sara now found herself as the recipient of an awful lot of emotional attention. Mary, Mariah, Marie, Maria, Mikah, Marissa, Mari, Mae, Maddy and Mabel were all very nice, but very much overly attentive now they knew their team mate was expecting. The fact that Mary had somehow managed to employ so many M's still amazed Sara; as did the fact that she had finally managed to get all the names straight. She and Candy had shared more than a few bouts of the giggles that one work environment could be so overcrowded with a single letter of the alphabet. Sara slid into the driver's seat and checked the ignition and the clutch before turning on the radio to see if the battery was dead. Something suited to Greg's stereo blasted through the speakers, making Sara wince.

"Are you sure you know what you're doing?" asked Candy as she lifted the hood and Sara locked it in place.

"I'm saddened by your lack of faith in me," sighed Sara, inspecting the engine. She leaned over as far as she could, poking around. Candy held back a snort of laughter as Sara tried awkwardly to lean over the bumper, her now very prominent stomach getting in the way. She stood back with a sigh.

"I can't see anything from up here." Candy frowned at her.

"You don't want to go crawling underneath do you?" she grumbled.

"That's the best bit," grinned Sara, heading for the storage shed with Candy trailing along behind her. Sara went straight for the tools she had organized some weeks back, making her selection before selecting a pair of men's coveralls that would fasten over her expanding body. Candy shook her head in amusement and selected a pair for herself. They changed and left their clothes on the shelf, out of the way. Sara was grateful the truck had a high ground clearance as she carefully but gleefully edged underneath and dragged her bag of tools after her. Candy pursed her lips, watching with resignation. She had learned over the weeks that Sara was a force of nature, a force to be reckoned with, and a force that rarely listened to others when she wanted to do something. With a sigh Candy lay down on the ground and inched her way under the truck; if keeping an eye on her friend meant getting a little grubby, then so be it.

...

At three-thirty Mary looked up from the computer when Sara and Candy walked back into the office. Mary surveyed their appearance, for a moment thoroughly confused, before remembering that Sara had wanted to look at the truck. They were dressed in filthy coveralls, with greasy hands and streaks of oil and dirt on their exposed skin.

"Truck's fixed," said Candy brightly, heading for the staff room to wash her hands, Sara followed her, smiling. Gaping, Mary followed them, bemused.

"You fixed it?" she clarified, as Sara slathered soap onto her skin.

"Yes ma-am," said Sara, rinsing her hands. Candy dried off and then went to fetch their clothes. Mikah came in from the cattery just as Candy returned; her eyebrows rose.

"Sara and Candy just fixed the truck," Mary told her as Sara used paper towels to wipe oil off her face.

"Where'd you learn how to do that?" asked Mikah.

"Some when I was a kid, some in college. I had a roommate who was a mechanic when I lived in San Francisco. She got me to help out when she was busy, in exchange for kitchen duties. I love playing with cars," grinned Sara. "The guys used to tease me, but they always tried to get out of auto detail if I was around to do it for them," she laughed.

"Did you work in a car shop too?" asked Candy, suddenly surprised that they had never talked much about Sara's work history.

"No, I was a Crime Scene Investigator," replied Sara, stifling a yawn. She excused herself and headed for the bathroom. She changed and washed lingering traces of oil from her face before returning to her desk to finish her log books for the day. Candy was waiting for her, scanning through the email.

"What are you doing tonight?" she asked a while later, finger combing her hair, which was now purple.

"We have some awards ceremony to go to. Something to do with the Dean," sighed Sara.

"Bummer," commiserated Candy.

"What about you?" asked Sara.

"My cousin's engagement party," she groaned. "I hate him. He used to steal my dolls and throw them in the pool when I was a kid."

"Some Friday night we're going to have then," mused Sara.

"Hey, it's four o'clock already, you should get going," said Candy, pointing to the time. Sara got to her feet, sighing internally as she thought about the evening's ordeal. She was filing a last invoice when a slight commotion in the staff room caught both her attention, and Candy's. They went to investigate, finding Mikah, teenage Mae and grandma of ten Mabel crowded together peering at an iPad. Sara looked at Candy and shrugged, opening her locker and slinging her bag over her shoulder. Turning back around, she saw Candy look up from the screen Mae was showing her, her mouth open in surprise.

"This is you, isn't it," said Mikah, turning the device around and showing Sara a digital copy of a newspaper article. Sara felt the blood drain from her face as her breath caught in her throat. She staggered backwards and grabbed the table as she slipped, twisting her back. Candy lunged forward to help, her eyes wide at the stricken expression on her friend's face.

"Are you ok?" she murmured.

"Yeah," replied Sara, her face ashen and a hand moving to her screaming back muscles. She looked up to find the others staring at her, the screen still displaying her department id photo, with a small inset picture of Natalie surrounded by text.

"Is it you?" asked Mae, alternately staring at Sara, and then the screen.

"I have to go," said Sara abruptly. "I'm late for an appointment," and she blew out of their as fast as she could move. Throwing herself into her car she tore out of the parking lot and raced home. In the kitchen Hank and Lucy were begging to be let out, so she released them into the back garden and then ran into the bathroom where she threw up everything she had eaten for lunch into the toilet. Shaking, she brushed her teeth and sank onto the bed, head in her hands as she concentrated on breathing. Panic threatened to consume her in a way she hadn't experienced since before going to Costa Rica. Cursing her hormones, she concentrated on the sharp ache in her back until she felt calm descending over her. Socks and Romeo scrambled onto the bed with her, and settled, purring, in her lap, further soothing her. Relaxing, she lay on the floor and stretched out with Socks on her chest and Romeo curling around her head. Kicking off her shoes, she waited for the muscle spasms to ease. Juliet meandered into the room and draped herself over Sara's feet, chewing her sock.

...

Thoroughly dissatisfied with the prospect of celebrating twenty-six weeks of pregnancy with Sara at a dinner for the dean, Gil let himself into the house earlier than usual, having decided that he had, quite frankly, had enough of his obnoxious office mate, considering that he would be seeing him later that evening. Seeing the dogs outside, he meandered into the bedroom in search of his other half. His gaze fell on Sara, lying flat on the floor, eyes closed, completely immobile, and surrounded by felines who all turned to look at him when he gasped.

"Sara," he called, horrified, running to her side and dropping to his knees. He pressed two fingers to the pulse point on her neck and leaned over to check her breathing. Abruptly, Sara awoke with a small shriek. Gil leapt backwards, heart pounding. Recovering himself he grabbed her shoulders, eyes wide as he stared at her.

"Are you alright?" he demanded, half out of his mind with panic. Seeing how worked up he was, Sara put a hand on either side of his face and pulled him down into a soft kiss.

"I'm fine," she assured him with a loving smile.

"Why are you on the floor?" he asked, his expression still twisted with worry.

"My back is killing me," she sighed, stroking his cheek. "I think I've pulled a muscle and this seemed to be the most comfortable position. I was meditating and I must have fallen asleep. I'm sorry honey," she sighed, kissing him gently again. Gil eased her up onto the bed and then helped her out of her jeans, socks, jacket, shirt and bra. Propping pillows under her chest and hips, he helped her lie down on her front. Striping off his work clothes he headed for the bathroom, washed his hands and picked up a bottle of lotion. Back in the bedroom, he climbed up onto the bed and proceeded to massage the moisturizer into her skin, loosening her muscles and making her relax, bit by bit.

"What's the matter?" he asked softly as his fingers kneaded the back of her shoulders. "Why are you so worked up?" After so many years, he knew every aspect of her body intimately, and its reactions to stress. With a sigh, Sara calmly told him about her day, and the panic that had gripped her when Mae showed her the photograph of Natalie.

"It has to be the hormones," she sighed, closing her eyes with pleasure and Gil worked his way down her spine. "Except for the odd nightmare here and there, I haven't been bothered by that in such a long time." Gil leaned forward and kissed her temple tenderly.

"I'm sorry," he murmured to her, "I wish I could make it stop."

"It's not your fault," she replied, as he sat up and ministered to her lower back. "I'm all over the place emotionally right now."

"How does it feel now?" he asked, trailing his fingers from the top of her spine all the way down and then moving to her hips.

"Amazing," murmured Sara, shifting slightly and testing her muscles. "I knew there was a reason I married you." They laughed, and Gil moved to tickle her sides lightly, but caught his fingers in the hem of her panties. Sara gasped as they pulled against her. A sudden overwhelming blaze of desire flooded through her at his touch, and she sat up as quickly as she could, tossing the pillows aside. Gil helped her, and moments later they were sitting face to face; without preamble Sara leaned forward and captured his lips with her own. Pulling her into his lap, he kissed back, his tongue desperately seeking its mate; Sara moaned deeply as she opened her mouth to him. Her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he pulled her into his lap, his hands roaming heatedly over her body, her skin burning under his touch. Sara slipped her fingers under the elastic of his boxers, earning a deep hiss of pleasure in her ear. They moved apart to shed the last of their clothing, before Gil pulled her down on top of him.

"Sara," he gasped as they slid together, his hands on her hips pulling her to him. Sara's eyes were closed as their bodies danced together, her expression one of pure ecstasy. Grissom groaned as her orgasm washed over her and she moaned his name, making him slam headlong into his own high. He rolled sideways and cuddled her against his chest, kissing her fervently.

"Wow," breathed Sara, sweaty curls clinging to her cheek, "that was the best massage I've ever had." Gil's laughter tickled her ear, and brought her a string of warm and loving kisses.

"That was seriously intense," he replied softly as Sara closed her eyes and hummed with pleasure. They dozed off, curled together intimately.

...

Grissom woke abruptly when Juliet pounced on his foot. He flinched and yanked his leg backwards when she started to chew his big toe.

"What's going on?" asked Sara, her voice groggy as she stirred from her nap. Gil stroked her arm and kissed her temple as he glanced at the clock.

"Your kitten is trying to eat my toes," he told her.

"Oh," she muttered, intent on falling back asleep.

"Sara, it's gone seven. We've been asleep ages dear."

"So," she sighed, pressing her face into his neck and inhaling his scent.

"We need to shower," he told her, silently damning the dean and his party plans.

"Do we absolutely have to go to this thing?" she grumbled, snuggling against him, inhaling his intoxicating scent and suppressing the urge to jump him. Gil sighed, burying his fingers in her hair. His body was still flush against hers, his skin warm and inviting.

"Don't remind me, I wish we could stay here all night." Her resolve vanished.

"Oh yeah," grinned Sara, suddenly attacking his lips again.

"Sara," he groaned into her mouth, "we need to get ready honey." Sara ignored him, and kept kissing her way down his chest. Growling, he pulled her back up to his lips, nibbling her lip and sneaking his tongue out to tangle with hers again. Sara sighed into him, curling her legs around his and pressing herself against him, gasping. "We need a shower Sara," he moaned, his hands roaming over her breasts. Sara scowled at him and got up, towing him to the bathroom where she switched on the shower and resumed kissing him while the water heated. Unable to help himself, Gil backed her up against the wall, ravishing her lips with his, and running his fingertips over her belly. Their kisses intensified and their passion built as they held each other under the hot water.

"Screw the dean," hissed Sara, pulling him closer and letting her hands succumb to gravity, causing him to gasp and moan in pleasure. Sara teased him, letting her fingers work a kind of magic while her lips worshiped his, cutting off his reply. Gil got a handful of shower gel and let his hands glide over her body, massaging and arousing her with feather light touches. Turning her gently in his arms, he kissed his way across the back of her neck, brushing her soaked hair aside as he nibbled on her soft skin, trail his tongue and listening to her sharp intake of breath as she pushed herself back against him. Sara leaned her hands on the wall as his arms wrapped around her and he entered her slowly from behind. The steam and the hot water only fuelled their overwhelming desire, pushing them both well past the edge of reason in a thunder of racing hearts, gasping breath and loving cries. When her legs gave out under her, Gil turned her in his arms and held fast to him, burying his face in her neck.

"What has gotten into you?" he asked, cradling to his chest.

"You," she replied softly, kissing his shoulder gently. "I believe my current condition, and any associated overwhelming desires, can be attributed to you." Gil laughed and reached for the shampoo. The clock on the bathroom counter told him they had best hurry up.

...

Sara was drying her hair while Gil went to feed the animals and let the dogs back in. Lucy went straight to her bowl, wolfing her dinner down. Hank waited for Grissom to give him some attention before occupying himself with his own meal. Juliet pushed the other two cats out of the way in her haste to get to her kitten crunchies. Romeo tackled her and they rolled away, wrestling. Socks sauntered up in their absence and delicately helped herself. Grissom laughed as he made his way to the office with a handful of dog food for his roaches; Romeo and Juliet streaked past, flew around the room, and bolted back out again. He fed his racers and then hurried back to the bedroom, almost tripping over Romeo on his way. Sara was carefully applying a small amount of makeup; her hair dry and caressing her shoulders and upper back in soft, chocolaty curls. Gil washed his hands and brushed his teeth, then shed his robe and began to put on his dinner suit. He was buttoning his shirt when Sara came over to him and asked him to zip up her dress.

"You look beautiful," he told her as she turned around to face him and fasten his tie for him.

"Thank you," she smiled, smoothing a hand over the smooth earthy green fabric. Her dress was simple, a wrap design that emphasized her figure in the bodice and then flared into a long, effortless and flowing skirt. "You look very handsome yourself, Doctor Grissom." They laughed together, and hurried to finish getting ready.

"You ready for this?" she asked, as they walked into the hall, taking in the mass of people milling around.

"Not really," he sighed, wrapping an arm around her waist as they walked forward. Having attended a similar event in Paris, they made their way through the crowd, greeting and chatting with the science staff. Sara struck up a conversation with a woman named Rachel.

"What do you teach?" asked Sara, as Gil went to get drinks.

"Oh, no, my husband is part of the biology department. I'm a neonatal nurse," explained Rachel, putting her wine down on the table and brushing her soft blonde hair back from her face.

"That must be really hard," mused Sara.

"It is, but the rewards are wonderful," Rachel smiled. "I wouldn't do anything different. What about you? Are you a teacher?"

"My husband is guest lecturing here for the rest of the year. I was working for the Las Vegas Crime Lab before we came here, but for now I have a job at an animal shelter."  
"You're a scientist too?"

"Theoretical Physics," grinned Sara as Rachel wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"No thank you," she shivered, "I'll stick with nursing thanks." Sara laughed as they continued to talk about their work and interests. Grissom walked over to them and handed Sara her orange juice as she introduced him to Rachel.

"What are you teaching here Doctor Grissom?" she asked.

"Biology mostly," he said. "I'm filling in for Professor Winters while he's on leave."

"Oh, my husband is a bio teacher as well. He specialises in ecology."

"Entomology," admitted Gil, when she asked him where his focus was.

"How wonderful, my niece would love you; she's obsessed with spiders." She held out her wrist, which sported a gold chain with an amber charm on it. "Do you think you could tell me what this is?" she asked, showing him the charm. Gil and Sara looked closely; inside the amber was a perfectly preserved insect.

"Oh, that's pretty," said Sara softly, touching the stone with a fingertip.

"Photinus pyralis," noted Gil. He glanced at Sara, wondering if she had identified the species. She smiled at him.

"It's a firefly," she told Rachel, straightening as Gil peered more closely at the specimen.

"It's very nice," said Grissom, "where did you get it?"

"My sister," began Rachel, before a hand snatched her arm away from Grissom and pulled her roughly against a fuming Michael Harrison. "Ow," cried Rachel, as she tried to tug out of his grip. "Michael, what are you doing?"

"Well, if it isn't Doctor and Doctor Grissom," he sneered, leering at Sara.

"We were just taking about work," said Rachel, yanking herself out of her husband's grip and taking a couple of steps away from him, her eyes burning with embarrassment and fury. Gil held out her bracelet, which had come off her wrist when Michael pulled her away.

"Thank you," she said gratefully and gently, though spots of rage colored her cheeks, and she trembled slightly.

"Are you ok?" asked Sara, concerned as she watched Rachel fumble as she tried to fasten the clasp.

"She's fine," snapped Michael, grabbing her arm and trying to pull her away from the Grissoms. Rachel ripped her arm out of his grasp and fished fixing her bracelet. "Let's go Rachel," hissed Michael, through gritted teeth.

"No," she snapped back, turning away from him to continue her conversation. Michael grabbed her arm hard enough to bruise and yanked her toward him.

"Let her go," said Grissom firmly. Stepping forward, Rachel pulled away from her husband and caught her foot; she stumbled, knocking into Sara who staggered and fell heavily to the side. Gil lunched to catch her too late and felt the impact of her head against the table edge through his entire body. He watched horrified as she crumpled to the floor before he could catch her. Sara lay on her side unmoving and unconscious, with blood steadily seeping onto the pale carpet under her head.

...

...

Sorry for the delay; the flu seems to be making the rounds early here, and my boss is a complete (insert every profane and unpleasant name you can think of here, the guy has seriously had a bug up his ass recently). sorry about the cliffhanger too, that was so not intentional. please r&r, your comments make me so happy. thank you for reading...


	21. Chapter 21

Grissom dropped to his knees next to Sara, feeling a horrible sense of déjà vu as he checked her pulse. It was there; slow but steady. So was her breathing.

"Don't move her," said Rachel, crouching next to him and gently running her hands over Sara's body, checking her over. Other guests were crowding around them; several men from the biology faculty who had been nearby had hustled Michael out of the room, their expressions grim as one of their wives called an ambulance. The wife of the dean began herding the remaining guests into the next room, providing quiet and calm in the large hall.

"Sara," said Grissom soothingly, his hand brushing her cheek, "can you hear me honey? Can you open your eyes?" Sara didn't move and he sighed with frustration. He pressed a hand to her stomach, and felt relief pour through his body like warm water when he felt the baby kick. Rachel looked carefully at the side of Sara's head, trying to see the cause of the blood without moving her head and neck. Gil monitored her pulse, keeping her hand in his. Minutes later paramedics were rushing into the room and taking over.

"What's her name?" asked a large, muscular paramedic whose name tag read Joe.

"Sara," said Grissom, still holding onto her hand.

"What happened?" asked Joe's companion, a slender woman with fiery red hair and a nametag reading Mandy.

"She fell and hit her head on the table. She's been unconscious for," Gil checked his watch, "eleven minutes now."

"How far along is she?" asked Mandy as she rummaged in her bag and Joe checked Sara's pupil response.

"She's twenty-six weeks today," answered Grissom, feeling sick with worry and fear as he watched Joe run his hands over Sara's head and neck.

"I think she's ok," he said, "but we'll immobilize her until we get to the ER, just to be sure." Grissom nodded and helped them as they loaded her onto a back board with a neck brace and then onto the stretcher. Gil kept hold of her hand as they moved out to the ambulance and then as they drove to the hospital. He studied the cut that ran through her hairline and still bled sluggishly; when Mandy secured a dressing over it he moved his attention to her other hand, which had still been holding her glass of orange juice when she fell and had shattered upon impacting the floor. Unfortunately she hadn't managed to let go of it, and bits of broken glass were now embedded into the skin of her palm. They pulled up to the unloading bay and moved into the ER, where they were ushered into a treatment bay, Sara was transferred to a hospital bed and the paramedics departed after rattling off their stats in a speed which would have impressed Grissom had he been taking notice. Instead he was focused intently on his wife and the doctors and nurses as the tested, checked and examined her. After what seemed an age, Sara gradually began to regain consciousness. Gil felt her fingers move in his grasp, and was instantly standing at the head of the bed, his fingers grazing her cheek as he waited, murmuring soothingly to her. Sara groaned softly as her eyes flickered for a minute before she managed to settle her gaze on him. He bent down and lightly kissed her forehead.

"Baby?" she whispered, agitated.

"She's fine," he assured her, "Listen, you can hear her heartbeat on the monitor." Sara concentrated on the sounds carefully, only relaxing when she was sure of what she was hearing.

"Mrs Grissom," said Doctor Franks, "can you tell me where the pain is?"

"My head. I have a monster headache. And my hand," as she spoke, Sara tried to lift her left hand. When she couldn't lift it out of the grasp of the nurse who was dealing with the glass cuts she started to get upset again.

"It's ok," soothed Grissom, stroking her hair. "You have some glass in you palm and Nurse Jane is getting it out for you." Sara took a deep breath and listened as Doctor Franks explained what he wanted to do as he walked her through the standard post head trauma checks, keeping her distracted while Jane worked on her hand. Finally, Doctor Franks ended his exam and smiled at his patient.

"Ok Sara," he said warmly, "nothing's broken, but you have a pretty nice concussion so I'm inviting you to stay the night with us in our fabulous five star hotel here so we can keep an eye on you." Sara nodded, but sighed internally. "I'm also going to put some surgical glue in this cut here," he continued, his fingers probing her scalp and making her flinch. "I'm sorry," he apologised, as he cleaned the wound and applied the glue. "Ok, Jane are you finished?"

"Yes sir! Mrs Grissom you'll need to get the stitches out in five days, but other than that your hand will be fine."

"Thank you," Sara smiled weakly and nodded.

"We'll get you settled in a room in just a moment, and I expect you'll be able to go home early tomorrow afternoon," said the doctor as he checked the stitches and watched Jane bandage Sara's hand.

When Doctor Franks and Jane left Sara turned to Gil and lifted their clasped hands to kiss his fingers gently.

"You ok?" she asked gently. He bent down closer to her and kissed her temple.

"Yeah, you had me scared witless dear," he said, his voice soft.

"What happened?" she asked. "I remember looking at a firefly and that's about it." As nurses moved her from the ER to a room Gil recounted the tale of their short lived appearance at the dean's dinner.

"Well," said Sara, wryly amused, "we did say we didn't want to go." Gil laughed and perched on the end of the bed as the nurse got her settled. When they were alone at last Sara gestured for him to join her. Shedding his shoes, jacket and tie, Gil crawled in behind her and they snuggled together. He gently smoothed her hair and held her until she drifted off to sleep, knowing that underneath her brave facade she was trembling with fear for their baby, and fear of hospitals. With her pressed against his chest, breathing softly and very much alive and well, Gil finally relaxed enough to slip into a troubled slumber.

...

At two in the morning, after finally absconding from her family and then talking to her favourite cousin Sally, the only member of the family who had escaped the engagement party, Candy snuck into the hospital room to check on her friend. Sara was curled up in her husband's arms, fast asleep.

"Hello," said Grissom, his voice very low. Candy tiptoed up to the bed.

"Hi, is she ok?"

"Concussed and she has stitches in her hand."

"She'll be ok?"

"Yeah."

"The baby?" Candy's voice was filled with apprehension.

"She's fine," smiled Grissom. "How did you hear about this?"

"My cousin Sally is a Literature Professor at Dartmouth. We were comparing notes on whose party was worse."

"How was your party?"

"Awful, my cousin's fiancé threw a plate at me when I asked her why her dog was locked in the bedroom."

"She threw a plate?"

"Yeah, she missed me and hit my uncle; he was covered in tomato sauce. He was seriously pissed, so I let the dog out and took it for a walk." Grissom laughed gently, trying not to wake Sara. "Is there anything I can do to help?" asked Candy, all serious now. Gil put a hand in his pocket and pulled out his keys.

"Could you go to the cottage and let the dogs out into the yard?"

"Sure. When do you get to take her home?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, hopefully."

"Shall I just take them to my house? They can hang out with Sammie, and I can walk them all. I'll feed the cats too."

"That would be wonderful," agreed Grissom.

"Do you have your phone with you?" asked Candy, looking around.

"On the table" gestured Grissom. Candy picked it up and programmed in her number, then sent his number to her phone.

"There, now I can call you, and you can call me. Will you let me know if anything changes?"

"Definitely," nodded Grissom, stroking Sara's cheek soothingly as she stirred slightly in her sleep. "Thank you Candy, I'm very grateful."

"No problem," grinned the teenager, "Sara's done a lot for me since we met, it's nice to help her out. I'll see you tomorrow then." Candy waved goodbye and left, leaving Grissom feeling much better and relieved to know he didn't need to leave Sara in order to tend to their animals. He would have hated for her to wake up alone and stressed in an unfamiliar place. With a weight off his mind, he curled even closer to her and fell asleep listening to her gentle breathing.

...

By three pm the next afternoon Sara was feeling decidedly crabby. She lay on the bed scowling, with her head resting on Gil's chest as they waited for the doctor to come and release her.

"I hate hospitals," she grumbled, for the sixth time. "They smell weird, they feel weird and they sound weird." Gil smiled to himself and kissed her hair, cuddling her gently. Aside from a headache and a seriously irritated mood, Sara was fine, and extremely anxious to get home to her babies and her own bed. On the premise that she took it easy for the rest of the weekend, the doctor arrived with her discharge information, and was followed by Candy who had offered to drive them home. Sara smiled at her friend as she came into the room, her car keys swinging on a lanyard from her hand.

"How ya feeling Sara?" asked Candy, handing her a stuffed giraffe with large, expressive purple eyes.

Sara laughed, remembering their conversation about an African Safari from a few weeks ago.

"Ok," she examined the giraffe. "Thank you, this is cute," she said.

"You're welcome; you ready to get out of here?"

"Oh yeah!" Grissom chuckled and helped her to her feet so they could make their way slowly and steadily out to Candy's car.

...

For the rest of the afternoon and though the night Sara slept for the most part, waking on Sunday morning with a slight headache still, but no other ill effects. She lay quietly, stroking Socks until Gil yawned and opened his eyes.

"Morning," he murmured, his eyes still half closed.

"Hey," she replied running a hand through his messy hair. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, I was dreaming about that canoe trip we took in Costa Rica."

"Yeah, I can see why you'd want to remember that," she smirked, thinking back to the trip, and the fact that they hadn't actually seen as much as they had wanted, having been somewhat more occupied with each other's company. Living in tents in a close quartered camp tended to have that effect.

"Well I had bizarre dreams last night," she told him, stretching and rolling to face him. "I dreamed I was at a drug bust and I somehow accidentally got high processing the evidence and Brass locked me up at PD. Then I dreamt about Marco, the foster brother I told you about."

"The one with the bag of weed?"  
"Yeah, only this time they accused me of being the addict and grounded me for a year. And then I was back in college and some kid in my physics lab spiked my drink and I was screaming at him not to hurt me." She stopped when Gil broke into uncontrolled laughter. "What is so funny?"

"Friday night, in the hospital, the nurse came in to give you some pain killers in the middle of the night and you freaked out, yelling at her that you didn't want her to drug the baby. You were pretty out of it; you accused the hospital of trying to keep you quiet by drugging you."

"Really?" giggled Sara.

"Yes dear."

...

The spent Sunday quietly at home; reading, playing Trivial Pursuit, grooming Hank and Lucy and generally relaxing in each other's company. When her headache had not totally dissipated by the time they went to bed, Gil made Sara promise to stay home the next day. She smiled at his protectiveness, kissed him softly and agreed, before taking his hand and resting it with hers on her stomach, where their baby girl was using her feet as drumsticks against Sara's womb.

...

As Sunday and Monday were Candy's scheduled days off, and Mary hadn't called her in to cover for Sara, the teenager loaded Sammie into her Honda Civic and drove to Sara's to hang out. With all three dogs tearing around outside in the sunshine, Sara and Candy sat at the kitchen table; Sara with her doll making supplies, and Candy with her sketch book.

"Aren't you supposed to be at some family thing today?" asked Sara suddenly, as she carefully stitched away at one of the eyes.

"I was supposed to go dress shopping with my aunt; but she'll only drag me around for hours and make me trying on horrible things that I hate."

"What did you tell them then?" Sara was curious.

"That I had a friend with a head injury who has just been released from hospital and needs someone to keep an eye on her for the day."

"And your mother bought it?"

"She did when I got Gil to call her." Sara choked on her lemonade, eyes wide. Candy snorted with laughter. "My aunt is awful Sara, you'd hate her. She has five sons, so she thinks I'm her personal Barbie doll." Sara wrinkled her nose distastefully.

"I had a foster mother who did that to me. I didn't last long in that house," Sara snickered at the memory, she was all of thirteen and feisty enough to take on her entire English class in a debate about human rights, and her unbearably involved foster mother.

"So when are you going to San Diego?" Candy asked a while later.

"September second," replied Sara, setting tiny stitches that formed the eyebrows. "We're coming back on the tenth."

"Are you looking forward to it?"

"Definitely, even the racing."

"Racing?"

"Cockroach racing," said Sara, tying off her thread. Candy stared at her.

"Are you pulling my leg?" she asked, tucking a strand of purple hair behind her ear.

"No," Sara shook her head and stood up, beckoning Candy to follow her. "Come and see," she invited, heading for the office. Curious, Candy followed her, wondering what was going on. Sara opened the door and let Candy in, before shutting it behind them.

"We have to keep the door shut because Juliet likes to try and open the tank," said Sara, walking over to the glass enclosure and peering inside. It was empty. The usual bedding, food and twigs for climbing on were all there, but the was nothing alive in the tank. "Oh no," she muttered, looking at the top. "I'm going to kill him," she groaned, seeing the lid was not properly fastened. Candy looked nervously around the room.

"What exactly is supposed to be in there?" she asked hesitantly.

"Seven Madagascan Hissing Cockroaches," sighed Sara, as she began to search.

"Right," said Candy, standing in the middle of the room, away from any furniture and looking around carefully, her arms hugged tight to her body. "What's that on the curtain?" she asked nervously. Sara reached up and scooped the bug into her hand.

"That is Blake," she said, holding him out for Candy to examine.

"That's huge," said the girl, but not with fear. She stared curiously at the roach for a moment, before holding out her hand and letting him walk onto her palm.

"It's not so bad," said Sara, "you learn to live with it." Candy looked at her, with an expression that just said yeah right.

"Rather you than me," she said, depositing the roach back into its house and fixing the lid on firmly. They continued searching. Sara found Wordsworth under the desk, and Emerson climbing up the side of the filing cabinet. Candy pulled Keats out of the trash can and Longfellow off the bookshelf.

"Is that it?" asked Candy as they secured their escapees back in the habitat. Sara shook her head.

"No, there's one more."

"So who named them?"

"Gil."

"Why the theme?" asked Candy as they continued to scour the room.

"Something to do with it being a team thing, when their racing."

"Entomologists really have conferences and race bugs?" Candy was still having trouble comprehending the concept.

"Yeah, weird I know," sighed Sara, scowling at the chair cushions. "It's fun, in a strange sort of way," she admitted. Candy laughed and sat up on the floor.

"I don't think he's here," she said. "Could he have escaped from the room?"

"I don't think so, there's no gap under the door and the windows have been shut."

"I can't believe you keep bugs as pets," mused Candy, as she went over the bookcase again.

"These are better than Stevie," remarked Sara, sorting through student papers on the desk.

"What's Stevie?"

"A tarantula."

"Yuck. No thank you," shivered Candy.

"My thoughts exactly," agreed Sara, "but don't tell Gil."

"Where is he now?"

"The Vegas Crime Lab; one of the CSI's has a couple of spiders, including Stevie."

"The most exotic pet I've ever had was a hamster that chewed his way out of seven different cages."

"Nice," laughed Sara "Well, we've had a colony of bees, a bearded dragon, various different bugs and a container of fifty crickets that escaped in the house."

"Here?"

"No. We were in Vegas, working nights, and he ordered them from the pet store. The box was damaged and Hank knocked it off the counter while we were out. He went to a pet sitter while we were at work after that, and the bugs relocated to Gil's office at the lab." Candy didn't know whether to laugh or cringe in horror. She was about to ask how they had caught all the crickets when there was a howl from the living room. Sara hurtled as fast as she could toward the sound, Candy hot on her heals. Socks was sitting on the edge of the coffee table, her fur sticking up, her claws extended and her ears back. She was hissing and spitting at the creature crawling toward her on the ground. She growled deeply and prepared to jump; Candy lunged forward and grabbed the cat, shoving her into Sara's arms before going back for the roach, which bolted.

"Stop right there," yelled the girl as Sara fought to keep her normally placid cat in her arms. The roach vanished under the couch and Socks howled again, furious. Sara stumbled into the kitchen and tried to shut her cat in, but Socks was too quick and charged back into the living room, leaping over the arm chair and peering under the sofa, swiping frantically at the roach, her teeth bared.

"Socks, come here," cajoled Sara, getting down on her hands and knees slowly and carefully. She gripped the struggling cat and pulled her into her arms, trying to sooth her. Socks struggled furiously, and yowled loudly. Sara cursed when Romeo and Juliet came thundering into the room, roused from their nap on the bed. Juliet joined Candy behind the couch, peering under it and following the movements of the roach with comic vigilance. Romeo seemed not to care, and sat himself on the arm of the chair until the roach ventured out of its shelter and ran for the corner. Socks snarled, Sara clung on to her for dear life, Juliet howled and gave chase, Romeo charged across the chair, the coffee table and then the back of the couch and Candy threw herself over the coffee table, hit the floor, rolled and then launched herself toward the roach, finally clamping her hands down on top of it, seconds before she was assaulted by felines. Inspiration suddenly struck, and Sara struggled to her feet, her balance askew with the baby in the way and her arms firmly encased around Socks, and then ran to the kitchen where she awkwardly got the jar of treats out of the cupboard and shook it. The response was instantaneous; Socks stopped struggling and Romeo and Juliet came crashing into the room. Sara put a handful of treats on the floor, then backed out of the kitchen and shut the door. Candy met her in the hallway with the fugitive in her cupped hands.

"Thank you," sighed Sara, opening the habitat and watching Freud join his friends.

"No problem," said Candy, amused. "I can safely say I've never had an experience like that before."

Sara snorted and headed back for the kitchen. She stripped off her bandage, carefully washed her hands and then applied antiseptic to her stitched wounds and re-bandaged her hand.

"I do have one question though," said Candy as she started a new sketch.

"What's that?"

"The last one, what's his name?"

"Freud," replied Sara absently as she started making lunch.

"That doesn't fit the pattern," frowned the girl, her brown furrowing in concentration as her pencil danced over the page. "The others are authors and poets. Freud was a psychologist."

"I know," said Sara, a wry smile on her lips. "He named it after me."

...

...

Ohhh, thank you for the lovely reviews, and as a thank you i have forgone sleep to get this off my chest. it's fluffier and sweeter than the last chapter; i am so not trying to kill off Sara, i love her to bits and she's so easy to write compared to some of the other characters. i never expected Candy to become such a big part of the story, but she just seems to demand attention so i hope you like her. Michael will get his dues, but i haven't decided how yet...

Happy reading,

please R&R

hugs, Got Tea?


	22. Chapter 22

Gil finished grading a stack of essays and dropped them into their relevant box. Glancing at the clock he smiled; his office hours were over in twenty minutes and he could leave to go home. His phone buzzed and he picked it up, reading the message from Candy.

'You have some very strange pets!' Grissom frowned and then pocketed his phone. Candy had been texting him periodically throughout the day to keep him updated on his wife, as per his request. Pondering the meaning of her text, he finished up in welcome quiet. He tossed a few files into his bag and left for the evening, humming to himself as he walked home. Hank and Lucy came bounding up to him as he walked through the gate; he stopped, smiling, to make a fuss of them. Now out of her cast and thoroughly healed, Lucy was happy, healthy and thriving, and full of the over excited youthful energy that all puppies seem to possess. Grissom laughed as she tumbled around Hank, pushing him until the pair of them tore off around the garden. Hank had adjusted wonderfully to having another companion, and was completely besotted with Lucy. Sammie was sprawled in the sunshine by the front door, watching her friends with one eye as she dozed. Entering the hall, he found the cottage strangely quiet. From past experience he knew Sara and Candy were able to sit and chatter about anything and everything. He wandered into the kitchen and put his bag on a chair, stopping to examine the table. Half a dozen sketches were scattered around Candy's drawing pad and pencils; he studied the images carefully, beautiful black and white renderings of the animals; a forest decorated with such vibrant autumn colours he was momentarily transported back to a fall day in Paris when he and Sara had strolled through a park, hand in hand and lost in the moment. His eyes were then caught by the current, incomplete drawing still attached to the book. It showed a Madagascar Hissing Roach crawling across what he assumed was a chair, but he couldn't be sure because it wasn't finished. His lips twitching with amusement, he moved to study Sara's project, and felt a surge of warmth flow through his veins. The face of the doll was complete; brilliant green eyes stared up at him, black brows and eyelashes framed and emphasised the colour. A delicate nose and a smiley mouth completed the picture. He could see where she had started to add the hair; a mass of long black wool decorated one side of the scalp that had yet to be sewn together, meaning the entire head was still flat. Lying next to the fruit bowl were the arms, complete with tiny fingers and nails. Marvelling over the detail Sara had invested into her project, Grissom went looking for her, stopping with a smile when he reached the living room. Candy was lying across the armchair, her legs over one arm, her head propped against the other. Sara was curled on her side on the couch, covered in a tangle of cats. They both looked worn out. Seeing him, Juliet jumped off the couch and ran to him, demanding attention. Sara stirred and yawned, rubbing her eyes.

"Hey," she greeted him sleepily. Gil sank down next to her as she sat up, Juliet in his lap.

"How's your head?" he asked, leaning in to kiss her forehead.

"It aches still," she said, frowning as she pressed her lips to his in a much more satisfying kiss. Smiling to herself she pulled back. "How was work?"

"Very quiet," he said, as Candy stretched out and sat up in the chair. "Michael was arrested on Friday night after he left the party."

"What?"

"Seriously? Sally didn't say anything about that and she knows all the gossip."

"I don't think it's been made public knowledge yet, the biology department just found out this afternoon."

"What happened?" asked Sara, shifting to lean into Gil, who wrapped an arm around her.

"He tried to strangle Rachel."

"What?"gasped Candy, aghast.

"Their twelve year old son called the police. The neighbours heard her screaming and called 911 as well. Michael was arrested and he was dismissed from his job. He's being charged with attempted murder, assault and domestic violence. He dislocated his seven year olds shoulder when he tried to stop Michael from hitting Rachel, and he broke Rachel's nose." Sara's mouth fell open as Gil explained how the police and neighbours had caught him with his hands around Rachel's throat and her subsequent loss of consciousness. "They have strong evidence against him," said Grissom soberly, "He'll go away for a long time." The three sat there quietly, absorbing the enormity of the news. It was only when Candy glanced at the clock and gasped that they moved back to the present.

"I'm sorry," gasped the teen, "I have to go, my brother and I are going out to dinner."

"Thanks Candy," grinned Grissom.

"No problem," she giggled as they moved to the kitchen and Candy gathered all her art supplies.

"I do not need a babysitter," groused Sara.

"Of course not," agreed Gil, putting his arms around her from behind and kissing her temple. Candy laughed at them and left. Gil turned Sara gently in his arms and caressed her cheek.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" he asked, his fingers skirting the edge of the glued wound in her scalp.

"Yes," she replied softly, her eyes closing with pleasure at his touch.

"Good," he breathed, before pressing his lips to hers in a soft, intimate and lingering kiss.

"Mmmm," hummed Sara when he pulled back.

"That was the kiss I wanted to give you earlier," he murmured in her ear. He moved them both gently until he was sitting on a chair and she was straddling his lap. Her arms linked around his neck; he wrapped one around her back, holding her snugly to him, and the other slipped into her hair as his lips found hers again. Their kisses were slow, soft and passionate; exploring and yet tender. "My God Sara," he gasped between kisses, as his hand crept under her shirt and roamed over her back. His other hand left her hair and trailed down the side of her neck slowly. Sara sighed against his lips and hummed with pleasure when his hands slipped around to her front and danced over her belly, before skimming up to her breasts. Hearing her ragged breathing and feeling his pants become tightly restricting, Gil was about to suggest they move to the bedroom when the doorbell rang. Sara rested her forehead against his, uttering expletives. Breathing deeply to calm herself, she slid off his lap and straightened her clothes, grinning when he went to the sink and thrust his hands under the cold tap, cupping water in his palms to wash his face.

"This had better not take long," grumbled Sara, heading for the hall and the front door. Standing at the sink, running cold water over the veins of his wrists to cool himself down, Gil listened as Sara opened the door. He couldn't make out the words, but he could hear her speaking slowly, almost hesitantly, only to be answered first by a female, then a male. Frowning, he dried his face and hands, straightened his clothes and hair, then joined his wife. Standing in the doorway were two police officers.

"Good evening sir," said the woman, "I'm detective Lena Jacobs, and this is officer Joshua Barrs."

"Gil Grissom," he said, stepping forward to restrain the overexcited dogs trying to barge past the officers.

"We would like to ask you a few questions about Friday night, and the incident at the Dean's party." Sara sighed and Gil hid a smile, knowing what was on her mind as they all moved to the living room to talk. It was nearly two long, drawn out hours later when the officers left, and Sara stretched out on the couch as Gil let them out, frustrated. Grumbling about interruptions she ambled onto the kitchen for a glass of water. Gil hugged her from behind, kissing her temple.

"At least they'll have a good case against him, from the sounds of it," he commented, kissing her again.

"Yeah, I don't begrudge an interview. They just have impeccable timing."

"Do they ever," snorted Gil as Hank started barking outside.

"Let's take them for a walk," suggested Sara. Gil changed into jeans and a t-shirt while Sara put out cat food and gathered the leashes; Lucy was still to excitable to walk on her own, and Hank only needed minor encouragement to charge after her when she made a bid for freedom.

Arm in arm they meandered across the grounds of the school, away from all the bustle of the campus area and its hive of student activity.

"Sara," said Gil, hesitantly, "there's something I think we need to talk about."

"That sounds serious," she said, turning to look at him. "Should I be worried?"

"No dear. But it's getting closer to November, and we haven't talked about what... how you... ah...we haven't made any plans." Smiling Sara stopped and kissed his cheek, amused by his uncharacteristic flustering. She looped her arm around his waist, and he about her shoulder as they continued walking.

"I believe what you mean is, we haven't discussed any sort of birth plan or what it will be like when we bring her home."

"Bring her home."

"Yes, home! From the hospital! You can't seriously think I'd want to be anywhere else when she arrives do you?" Grissom sighed with relief and hurriedly shook his head.

"No dear, the hospital is good, very good," he nodded. They walked on for a while before he dared to ask his next question.

"What about," he began, before faltering. Sara laughed to herself, wondering how a man could be so clinically detached and able to talk about any aspect of bodily functions in great detail while in a professional setting, but then have almost a complete inability to raise the subject on a personal level. To spare him any further struggles she said,

"Naturally."

"Ok, and what about...?"

"Pain medication?"

"Well, yes."

"Only if it's absolutely necessary." She felt him flinch against her. "Gil, women have been giving birth for centuries without modern medicine and pain relief. I think it will be ok."

"Hmm," he replied, unconvinced. Sara frowned and stopped him, turning so they were face to face.

"What's the matter honey?" she asked, concerned.

"I don't want to see you in pain," he cringed. Sara smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him softly and lovingly.

"Do you know how much I love you?" she asked, pulling back to smile at him.

"No," he grinned, shaking his head, "how much?" Sara smirked and kissed him again, this time with a lot more enthusiasm. "Hmm, not bad," he mused when they parted. "I love you more though," he laughed. Sara smiled and took his hand, pressing it against her belly as the baby kicked her repeatedly.

"She's been kicking me all day," she said, wincing. Gil ran his hand tenderly over the spot where he could feel a tiny foot slamming into Sara's stomach. The movement stilled and the pair linked hands and turned to continue their walk. They were leaving the park and heading back towards the cottage when, unnoticed by Gil and Sara, who were quietly chatting about name possibilities, Lucy saw a rabbit. She lunged forward, barking madly, and tore the end of her leash out of Sara's hand.

"No," bellowed Sara as Gil winced at her abruptly elevated tone. Hank howled, and tore after her. Gil stumbled into a bush, letting go of the boxer in the process. Laughing helplessly, Sara tried to pull her husband out of the shrubbery and keep her eyes on the direction the dogs had gone. Struggling against the leaves and one particularly errant branch, they managed to finally get him back on his feet; Sara bit her lip to keep from laughing at him as she pulled a handful of leaves out of his hair.

"You ok?"

"Fine," he laughed, scanning the area for their wayward dogs. "I don't see them," he groaned. He looked at Sara, an eyebrow raised. Sara blew her two fingered, deafening whistle to summon Hank. "I wish I could learn that," sighed Gil as Hank came thundering towards them.

"I tried to teach you," retorted Sara as she yelled for Lucy. There was no response from the puppy. Sara scowled; they hadn't finished training yet, and Lucy was not the best at paying attention.

"Lucy," shouted Grissom. "Lucy, come back here." Still nothing.

"Hank," said Sara, scratching his ears, "fetch Lucy." The boxer took off back across the park, heading for the trees. With a sigh, Sara and Gil started off after them.

...

It was almost two hours later when they stumbled into the cottage, filthy, sweating and exhausted. Identical scowls marked their faces as they fed the dogs, and then staggered off for a quick shower before tumbling onto the bed.

"I'm going to permanently secure that puppy into the yard," groaned Sara as she curled on her side and wedged a pillow behind her aching back. Gil laughed with dry good humour. They had chased, herded, followed and beckoned Lucy for ages. The puppy had steadfastly refused to give in and come back to them, resulting in numerous incidents involving the trees and bushes of the park, a stretch of slippery grass in Sara's case, a muddy puddle concealed by reeds on the edge of a pond in Gil's case and a hoard of irate bees, which fortunately did not manage to sting either scientist. Sara inspected her palms for lingering grass stains, yawning.

"You ok dear?" asked Gil, running his fingers through her tangled hair.

"Mmm hmm, just thinking," she mused.

"What about?"

"I love our pets dearly, but I think they must have been conspiring against us today."

"That's reminds me," said Gil, handing her one of two oranges he had snagged from the kitchen. "I got a strange text from Candy that said something about our animals being weird?" He looked at her, both eyebrows raised in a silent question. Realizing she hadn't managed to tell him about the mass exodus of cockroaches from the office she snorted with mirth as she recounted her day with Candy. Gil listened and winced at her story; he had spent the better part of the day wondering what it was he thought he had forgotten to do that morning.

"If you ever leave the lid off the top of the tank again dear, I will personally shut Juliet in the room until she catches every last one of them," declared Sara, as she yawned and stretched her aching legs.

"That would be a waste of all the training we've put into them," he remarked. "I think they'll be real contenders in San Diego."

"You'd better keep them secure then, hadn't you?" she smirked as she concentrated on peeling her orange.

...

...

I'm sorry for the delay, this chapter just wouldn't come right. please R&R :)


	23. Chapter 23

Gil and Sara walked into their hotel room late in the afternoon on Friday the second of September. Looking around, Sara yawned and dropped her backpack on a chair. While Gil checked on his roaches she unzipped their case, rummaged around for some clean clothes and then climbed into the shower, wrinkling her nose at the scent of airplane that clung to her. Minutes later, clean and dressed in her comfy sweats Sara sank onto the bed with a yawn while Gil took his turn cleaning up. Drying off he stretched, his back stiff after their long journey; their two hour connection in Chicago had turned into a five and a half hour layover. Wandering into the bedroom to find Sara he stopped and smiled. She was curled up on the bed, fast asleep. Now twenty-nine weeks pregnant she more often than not needed an afternoon nap, something he found delightfully endearing, and she found supremely irritating. Grinning openly he crawled onto the bed behind her and moulded his body to hers, draping an arm snugly around her torso and holding her close.

...

At eight am the next morning Gil and Sara wandered along the sand at La Jolla Cove, hand in hand, enjoying the cool, overcast morning air.

"It's going to be really hot later," mused Sara, looking out over the ocean.

"Yeah," nodded Grissom, his thumb caressing the back of her hand. They meandered over the sand, heading for the rocks to investigate any tide pools. Sara stood entranced, gazing at a large purple sea star as it slowly moved across an algae ridden rock, her attention riveted on its journey. Gil looked up from his neighbouring pool and smiled when he noted her expression; one that only a phenomenon of nature could induce.

"What have you found," he murmured softly in her ear, sliding an arm around her waist.

"Pisaster ochraceus," said Sara softly, pointing out her star.

"More commonly known as?"

"The Ochre Star or the Purple Sea Star; common to the Pacific waters and can live to approximately twenty years," she replied, still staring into the depths of the pool. "They are also very hardy, which is probably a good thing, because they are popular with tourists."

"I see," said Gil, amused. "Did you learn that on the Sea Shepherd?"

"No," laughed Sara, as they started walking again. "I lived on the beach when I was a kid; it was much better than being in the house. Rufus and I would spend hours scouring the tide pools." Sara grinned at the memory of her scruffy boarder terrier.

"I can just picture that," considered Gil, his lips twitching in amusement.

"I wanted to be a marine biologist for a long time," admitted Sara, as they headed back to the hotel to get breakfast.

"Why did you change your mind?" he asked, openly curious.

"Stanford or UC Berkeley are both in California. I wanted to get out of the state, out of the system. Away from everything."

"Doesn't Harvard have marine biology?"

"Yes, they do. But I wanted to reinvent myself, forget everything that had happened. So I picked physics, my second favourite."

"That's sad honey," mused Gil, his arm tightening around her.

"I was running from my ghosts remember? Besides, I still didn't manage to talk myself out of a biology minor."

"And chemistry," added Gil.

"I took as many classes as I could possibly fit into my schedule. Especially science classes."

"Why?"

"My counsellor said I wouldn't be able to handle it," said Sara, her tone coloured with a touch of defiance.

"And of course you got straight A's," snorted Grissom.

"You bet I did," sniffed Sara, "I became very good friends with the librarians." Knowing all too well how his wife reacted to a challenge, and the fierce determination to prove any and all wrong when questioned, he could just imagine her, all of seventeen and staring down a guidance official over her schedule planning.

"Did you sleep at all?" he teased.

"I averaged twelve to fifteen hours sleep a week if it was a good week. And when I did sleep, I kept my roommate awake."

"Nightmares?"

"Oh yeah. I went through seven roommate's freshmen year because they couldn't handle the screaming."

"Did you stay up on purpose?" asked Gil, suddenly very concerned.

"No," she replied, smiling softly at him.

"How old were you when the insomnia started?" Sara thought back.

"About seven I think."

"Have you ever taken anything for it?"

"Yes. I was hospitalised twice during my junior year for sleep deprivation psychosis. The shrinks there tried to tell me I was depressed, but I'd never been happier. They tried me on an SSRI, which I had a massive allergic reaction to, and then sleeping pills, which knocked me out for two days. I think they were going with trial and error."

"So what did you do in the end?"

"A combination of martial arts, yoga and meditation allowed me to get just enough sleep to get by on. Then I met you," Sara grinned and paused, turning so they were face to face. "You hold me in your arms and whisper in my ear. You make me feel safe and help me chase away the nightmares. You make sleep possible," she said, leaning in to kiss him gently. "I can't explain why, but you do, and I love you all the more for it." Gil cradled her against his chest, kissing her passionately and gently running his fingertips over her back. They pulled apart when a passerby let out a loud and suggestive wolf whistle. Sara giggled as they clasped hands and resumed their walk.

...

After a quiet breakfast, they headed to Balboa Park where they spent the majority of the day getting lost in the Reuben H. Fleet Science Center, the San Diego Natural History Museum and the Museum of Photographic Arts. Late afternoon found them wandering through the peaceful grounds, admiring the flora. Gil stopped to watch Sara line up the perfect shot of an overflowing pot of flowers; his eyes smiling as they took in every detail of her intense concentration, slightly awkward stance as she struggled to balance and lean forward just as she wanted to. Her hair, now down to the bottom of her shoulder blades and longer than she had kept it since sometime between the Forensic Academy Conference and her move to Las Vegas, was haphazardly pulled back into a tantalizingly curly ponytail, and catching the light's rays. He waited quietly for his favourite moment, watching her fiddle with the buttons of the camera. Then, she inhaled and let her breath out slowly, gently pressing the shutter release button. A soft smile spread across her face as the moment encased her in happiness, lighting her face up and Gil felt his heart tug as he resisted the urge to yank her into a tight hug. She straightened and turned to face him, letting the camera rest on its strap around her neck. Catching sight of his expression she grinned bashfully, knowing full well that he had been staring at her. While she found photography incredibly thrilling and therapeutic, Gil found it one of those things where he was able to observe a freely uninhibited Sara; a sight which he was hard to compare, and of which he would never tire of opportunities to view. Moving together, Gil reached up to brush an errant lock of hair back behind her ear, caressing the side of her face tenderly as he leant in to kiss her. As they pulled back he tenderly stroked the side of her face, smoothing a thumb over her lips.

"You are mesmerising," he murmured to her, leaning in for another soft kiss. Fingers linked they started the journey back to the hotel in the car they had hired for the weekend, stopping for dinner at a tiny Mexican restaurant on the way.

...

Back at the Embassy Suites, where the conference was being held, they went up to their room. Sara took the battery out of her camera and slid it into the charger.

"Are you tired?" asked Gil, watching her closely.

"A little, but I feel like swimming, since we missed out yesterday."

"Alright, sounds good to me," he agreed, opening the closet to get their swim suits. The indoor pool was quiet; the lone swimmer was just getting out of the water. He smiled and nodded as he gathered his towel and left. Sara shed her robe and hung it on a peg with her towel. Leaving her sandals underneath she walked over to the steps, wishing she could just dive in and start swimming. After using the restroom, Gil slid into the water and swam over to where Sara was floating on her back in the middle of the pool.

"It's nice and warm," he commented, treading water next to her.

"Hmm," agreed Sara as she rolled onto her front and began slow, steady strokes up and down the pool. Gil followed, alternating between front crawl and breast stroke as he picked up his pace. He watched Sara's face as they approached each other in adjacent lanes. Her eyes were partially closed and her expression was laced with pure joy. He had seen the same expression on her face many times before, always when she was in the water. He wondered briefly if her element was water, then shook his head at his non-scientific folly. Pondering her bliss he swam quietly until it was time to get out. As they towelled off together he asked,

"Why do you enjoy swimming so much? You always look so happy in the water." Sara smiled fondly as she pulled on her robe and wrapped her towel around her dripping hair.

"My dad taught me to swim when I was a little girl. Those are some of my happiest memories from childhood."

"Did you have a pool at the B&B?" asked Gil curiously as they headed back to their room.

"Oh yeah, he loved the water. He had me in a swimsuit as soon as I was old enough. He won a silver medal in the 1500 meter freestyle at the 1964 Olympics in Tokyo."

"Really?" asked Grissom, surprised. "You've never mentioned that before."

"Sorry," replied Sara, shocked. "I had forgotten until you brought it up. I haven't thought about it in years. I think I have his medal in the bottom of my memory box in the closet in Vegas. It was one of the few things I managed to get from the house when the social worker took me into care. I grabbed it because my dad used to tell me his swimming stories when he tucked me into bed at night. I repressed a lot of it when I was in the system. I focused solely on academics and getting away to college as soon as I could. Learning to block everything out helped; I was very aggressive and out of control when I first went into care." As they waited for the elevator to get to their floor Gil wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her temple.

"I'm glad you have some happy memories of you father," he said softly.

"He was wonderful when he wasn't drunk. But when he was..." she shuddered at the thought, "well, you've seen my scars."

"I have," he sighed, taking her hand in his free one and kissing her fingers.

Sara yawned deeply as they walked into their room.

"You need to get some sleep, my dear one," he smiled as he started the shower. "I have a surprise for you in the morning, and we need to get up early for it."

"Oh, what are we doing?" she asked as she peeled off her wet swim suit and stepped into the warm water.

"It wouldn't be a surprise if I told you that," he scolded, stepping in with her. Sara laughed, and handed him the shampoo.

...

...

So sorry the appalling delay; Christmas has been absolutely brutal and exhausting. I'm now on vacation and finally able to do some writing. I hope you enjoyed the latest installment. Please let me know what you think; many thanks, Got Tea?


	24. Chapter 24

Gil walked over to the bed as he finished buttoning up his loose, white cotton shirt. He smiled at the image of Sara snuggled into the pillows, her face serene with the peace of slumber. Brushing her hair aside he gently kissed her forehead and murmured in her ear.

"Wake up Sara," he urged gently. His wife simply sighed softly and curled up tighter. "Come on honey," he cajoled, "wake up." This time he got no reaction at all, and so he shifted slightly and fastened his lips over hers; kissing her into a tender wakefulness.

"Hey," she whispered blissfully, as she stretched her arms and legs.

"Good morning dear, sleep well?"

"Mmm," she hummed, closing her eyes as she yawned. "It's not even seven," she groaned upon seeing the alarm clock. "Why are you waking me up at such a disgusting hour?"

"I have a surprise for you," he laughed, "and if you don't get up you'll miss it." With a sigh Sara tossed the covers away from her and sat up. "I'm going downstairs to get breakfast while you get dressed." Sara blinked sleepiness away from her eyes as she watched him walk out the door. Yawning deeply she staggered into the bathroom and turned on the cold tap, thrusting a wash cloth under the icy flow. The brisk water on her face made her yelp, but it did the trick; forcing away the remaining fogginess of her dreams. Feeling solidly back in the land of the living she reached for her deodorant and noticed Gil had left clothing out for her. Intrigued, she slipped into investigator mode. Green, three quarter length pants that were comfortable in the heat because of their lightweight fabric. On top of them was a loose, white shirt and a tank top, upon which rested a tube of high factor sunscreen. On the floor, in front of the cabinet were her sneakers. Lips pursed she started getting ready, applying the sunscreen first. Obviously they were going outside in the sun; hence the sensible shoes. He knew she would be comfortable in the pants and shirts for hours, and the tank top was there because he knew she liked layers when wearing shirts with buttons. Her mind pondering the possibilities she slipped into socks and her underwear, and then her preselected clothes. After brushing her teeth and combing out the wild tangles last night's shower had left her hair in, she carried her shoes to the edge of the bed and perched their while she put them on and fastened the laces. With a soft sigh she remembered the days when she used to balance on one leg while lacing up. Then the baby kicked her and she smiled softly, running a hand over her stomach. Moving to make the bed, she discovered another stash of items from her husband. His straw hat, and her matching fabric one, along with their sunglasses and her camera, complete with recharged battery and a spare, empty, memory card.

'Where is he taking me,' she mused. Just then the door opened and the organiser in question entered with cups of tea, bran muffins and fruit.

As he set his burden down Sara wandered over and slipped her arms around his neck, kissing him softly as his hands lingered over her back.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked, reaching for an orange.

"Not telling," he grinned. Sara pursed her lips, watching him stand there in blue shorts, sneakers and his own white shirt, looking, in her eyes, sexy as hell.

"Oh, come on Bugman," she begged, taking a sip of tea.

"Nope," he shook his head, a taunting grin on his face, "it wouldn't be a surprise then." Sara sighed.

"Can't you just give me a clue then?"

"No way, you're too smart for that. You'll see soon enough." Smirking openly, he handed her a muffin.

...

When Gil parked at the harbour Sara looked around with interest as he steered her in the right direction.

"Here we are," he said as they stopped by a small stand.

"Whale watching?" asked Sara, thrilled.

"Yes," he grinned, slipping an arm around her shoulders. "I checked that it's safe for you and baby girl. We leave in about twenty minutes." Sara turned into his arms, hugging him tightly.

"I love you," she whispered into his ear.

"I love you too," he returned.

...

"Gil, look!" gasped Sara, pointing out to the side of them as the boat motored along. He followed her finger as a massive blue whale breached the surface in a spray of diamond water droplets. Simultaneously Gil raised a pair of binoculars and Sara her camera, viewing and capturing the perfect moment. Moving to the bow they saw a pod of dolphins swimming alongside, jumping in and out of the water in the wake of the boat. Sara watched as Gil held her from behind, peering over her shoulder.

"This is beautiful," she sighed, "thank you for surprising me."  
"You're welcome," he returned, nuzzling her neck softly.

...

That evening they decided to eat dinner in the restaurant dining hall, rather than venture out on foot somewhere after they had returned the car, given the early start they had in the morning. As they ate Gil pointed out various people he knew that Sara hadn't met in the last few years. They were just finishing up when Clyde Jones, a Welsh entomologist at Stanford who had befriended Gil over a decade ago, snatched a chair from the empty table next to Sara and promptly sat himself down with them.

"Hi Clyde," smiled Sara before taking a sip of her water. "How are you?" On cue, the man launched into a rolling, never-ending and highly entertaining monologue covering everything from himself, his family and life in Stanford, to the weather, the latest in the world of entomology and even politics in the United Kingdom. Sitting back in her chair Sara watched her husband's face as he laughed along with his friend. When the talk eventually turned to a discussion of a new species of ant discovered the Brazilian rainforest earlier in the year, Gil began to enthusiastically inform Clyde of everything he had managed learn thus far. Sara, having heard all the information and seen the photographs over several evenings discussion not long after the discovery, opted not to stay and listen a second time when she was exhausted from the day's activities. After assuring him she was fine and that he could stay as long as he liked without worrying about her, she excused herself and went upstairs to bed, grinning as she saw him take up the discussion again like an overzealous school boy.

...

At breakfast they were joined again by Clyde, his equally over talkative friend Hans Schwarz and Nikko, a relatively new member of the entomology world that Hans had taken under his wing, and who seemed perpetually stuck in a state of adolescence, despite being twenty-seven and working under Hans at Gil's alma mater, Chicago. When Clyde asked him to pass the water pitcher he fumbled the pass over and dropped it, spilling the entire contents over the table. Nikko blushed scarlet right to the roots of his brilliant red hair, giving him the appearance of a sunburnt radish.

"At least I won't need a shower later," quipped the soaked Clyde, "not after this bath anyway." As he left the table to change Nikko sank back into his seat, resting his head in his hands. Unfortunately he put his elbow in the butter dish in the process, which made his arm slide out from under him; his whole body lurched to the side and he tumbled out of his seat, dragging half the table cloth with him. Hans stood, hauling the humiliated younger man to his feet.

"Please forgive us, I don't let him out very often," smiled Hans, his lips twitching with amusement as the pair went to exchange their food, coffee and water soaked clothing. On the opposite side of the table, clear of the blast radius, Sara and Gil made eye contact and lost their battle to keep their laughter in check. A waitress arrived to clear the mess while they were still trying to compose themselves. As the attendant piled cutlery and crockery onto a trolley, the smell of strong black coffee reached Sara's nose. Gagging, she clamped a hand to her mouth and bolted for the restrooms. With a sigh, Gil picked up her purse, his folder and their untouched blueberry muffins and went to stand outside the ladies room.

...

Following the opening speeches and formalities of the conference, which they both agreed was nowhere near as much fun as watching a print casting dry, the floor was open until lunchtime for attendees to mingle, meet with presenters and prepare any last minute details, which was equally as dull. It was only when they settled next to each other to listen to the first series of lectures that they finally felt interested. Sara took various notes in her own personal shorthand that Gil had given up trying to understand years ago, while he scrawled a few questions he wanted to follow up on. When the final talk rolled around Gil pulled out his notes and flash drive, heading to the podium. Sitting back in her chair, Sara grinned as Gil slipped into his teaching mode. Feeling as though she was back at Berkeley, she flipped to a clean page in her notebook and began to scribble copious notes. When he finished, and the lectures ended for the day, she met him by the door.

"Excuse me, Professor Grissom, I have a few questions if you have time." Smirking at her reference he followed her out of the hall and slipped an arm around her waist as they headed for the elevator.

"Did you enjoy that?" he asked.

"Yes, I did, and I do actually have a question about something the second guy said, but not right now," she said as they arrived at their door.

"No?" he asked, as they stepped inside and the door closed behind them.

"No," she said firmly, before kissing him passionately. When they pulled apart breathless, Sara rasped out, "Oh I wanted this yesterday but I was too tired. I'm sorry," she groaned as he pushed her gently against the wall and began kissing her again.

"Don't be," he gasped, as he pulled her sweater off. She tugged him closer and feverishly worked on the buttons of his shirt; pushing it aside, she let her hands trail over his chest, and then to his belt, button and zipper. They made it to the bed, breathless and sans clothing, as she curled around him and his hands wound into her hair. His kissed, licked and tasted his way across her neck, his lips gravitating toward her breasts while his hands caressed her belly before moving lower. Moaning at her increased sensitivity to his ministrations, Sara pulled him back to her lips, desperate to feel his kiss. Unable to wait any longer they collided frenetically, releasing all of their pent up energy and passion into a blistering climax. Curled together they lay gasping and flushed with the intensity of their experience. Sara gently pressed her lips to his shoulder as his arm slid further around her waist.

"I think I need to come to your lectures more often," she remarked seriously. Gil nodded in agreement.

"Absolutely. We both know an experiment is invalid unless it can be duplicated. And I would be more than happy to duplicate that intensity again."

"When's your next lecture?"

...

Dinner was relatively quiet after the excitement of breakfast, with the exception of Nikko dropping his entire dinner plate on the way back from the buffet tables.

"If you're going to keep nailing me with you food kid, I'm afraid I'll have to move to a different table," joked Clyde as he used a napkin to wipe pasta sauce of his leather shoes. Turning scarlet once again, Nikko sighed and scraped up the mess before returning the buffet for take two. Swallowing a bite of wild mushroom quiche Sara looked up from the jar of roaches in front of her that she had been keeping an eye on.

"Can you remind me of the rules honey?" she asked. Grissom grinned at her, still buzzing from their earlier encounter.

"Sure! Every competitor gets to enter six roaches in the preliminaries and keep one wild card. Ten roaches per race and the top three get through to the next round. No one has more than one roach in each preliminary. The wild card gets to replace any of the first three to lose by automatically advancing to the next level." Sara frowned over his last sentence.

"Why, that makes no sense." Gil shrugged in reply.

"No idea, that's just the rules." Clyde leaned over from Gils other side.

"Joe Lesco invented the rules years ago. He wanted to make sure he got another chance when his first three went out. He never did win the trophy though." Laughing Clyde returned to his dinner and his conversation with Nikko.

"Who's our wild card then?" asked Sara, peering at their roaches again, before glancing over at the jar in front of Clyde.

"Freud." Hans appeared next to them, handing out sheets of paper.

"Thanks," said Sara, taking the racing order for the night and studying it carefully. "We're in heats one, three, four, seven, nine and ten," she showed Gil.

"What order do you think we should run them in?" he asked, pulling the jar closer.

"Well, Frost, Emerson and Blake are definitely the strongest contenders, but these are preliminaries, does it really matter who goes where? It is random draw right? So even those who make it through aren't going to be racing the same roaches in the next round."

"Sounds plausible. So, alphabetically or by author preference?"

"We don't agree on preference, so it had better be alphabetically."

"You know," said Clyde casually, "Everyone here is a geek, it's a required part of the membership; you two take it to a whole new level though. Talk about a match made in heaven." Snickering to himself he took his roaches and went to get ready. Gil and Sara looked at each other, their amused expressions mirroring each other.

"You ready?" asked Gil, getting to his feet.

"Definitely," grinned Sara, picking up her camera as Gil lifted the roaches.

...

Gil and Sara stood next to Clyde, waiting to release Blake while Clyde introduced them to his first racer, Weed.

"Why is his name Weed?" asked Sara. Holding up his jar, Clyde pointed out the others.

"Meet Grass, Skunk, MJ, Herb, Snowflake, AK-47 and Blueberry. I brought a couple of extras just in case." Seeing Gil and Sara staring at him, shocked over his choice of roach names he grinned. "The seventies were very good to me guys, unbelievably good!"

...

Grinning like an idiot Sara stood at the finish line taking pictures as Wordsworth trundled over the line in third place. Laughing at their success Gil scooped up his roach and deposited him back in the jar and led Sara over to the leader board. Thanks to Frost and Emerson taking first place in their heats, Blake taking second and Keats and Wordsworth placing third they had five roaches through to the next stage the following evening. Longfellow was the only one not to finish in the top three after a false start and then a slow wander down the track to take sixth place.

"We're in second place," said Sara, finding their scores, "we have fifty points." She glanced at the jar in her husband's hands. "Well done guys." Clyde came shuffling over with a sigh.

"Twenty-four points," he grumbled. "I only got Weed, Herb and Grass through, and they each got third place."

"It's not the seventies anymore," said Gil and Sara simultaneously, before bursting into laughter.

"Too bad, it might have given them a little incentive to run faster," grouched Clyde as he strolled off.

...

...

Ooohhh, I've always wanted to write a roach racing scene; I hope it didn't disapoint! I needed a little levity after the serious tone of the week, so please let me know what you think.


	25. Chapter 25

Grinning like a lovesick school girl Sara sat in the back of Gil's lecture on Wednesday, taking page after page of detailed notes while he talked about his work for the Peruvian government. This was his second presentation of the day and she was definitely feeling the need to repeat their Monday experiment. Watching him take the audience through a tour of his exploits in mass graves Sara felt desire wash through her body. He was wearing a blue shirt that drew out the darker blue tones in his eyes and made him look incredibly sexy in Sara's view. He knew this, and had smirked pointedly at her while dressing that morning. Feeling her back become uncomfortably cramped she shifted in her seat and then closed her notebook. Needing to walk off the muscle spasms she slipped out of her seat and through the door into the hallway as quietly as possible. Grimacing in pain she made her way down the hall to the elevator, then walked up and down the hallway outside her room until her muscles eased and she was able to go inside and lie down on the bed. Stripping down to her underwear she slipped beneath the sheets, waiting for her Bugman and grinning at the thought of duplicating their experiment. Shivering slightly she pulled the blankets closer around her and waited.

...

Gil saw her slip out quietly, one hand pressed to her back and an expression of pain on her face. Knowing she would walk off the cramp and then wait for him upstairs he continued with his lecture, impatient for it to be over while thinking he had truly changed over the last few years. Where once he longed for conferences and their academic environments and teaching opportunities, now here he was standing on a stage before his peers delivering a seminar many would give their eye teeth to be a part of and his attention was firmly locked on his beautiful wife. Loving the changes that brought him warmth, joy, happiness and love he enthusiastically continued on, wrapping up for the morning. After talking with Hans and a handful of others, answering questions and commenting on ideas, Gil finally made his way out of the conference hall and over to the elevators; he waited impatiently until he arrived at his door, thinking about the dreamy expression on Sara's face as she scribbled furiously in the back of the room as he lectured. Slipping quietly inside he dropped his file, USB and jacket on the table then turned to the bed. Sara was curled under the covers, snoring softly. An amused grin spread over his face as he moved over to her. He noted her discarded outer clothing and realized she must have waited for him in bed before falling asleep. Smiling softly he pulled the covers more securely around her, knowing she got cold more easily now. He pressed a gently kiss to her forehead and brushed his hand over her stomach before retreating to the table where he set up the laptop and began to edit a section of his final presentation the following day.

...

Sara yawned and stretched slowly, blissfully unaware and happily ensconced in the in between world of post sleep/near consciousness. Opening her eyes she spied her earlier discarded clothing. Sitting up abruptly she cursed herself for falling victim to slumber while waiting to seduce her husband. Glancing at the clock she threw back the covers and lurched out of bed.

"Ahh," she cried as the world spun and she stumbled forward. Gil bolted out of the bathroom where he had been making tea with the coffee pot. Seeing her arms flail as her legs gave out from under her he lunged forward and caught her under the arms before she hit the floor, letting her slide gently down his legs. Turning to the side he hooked one arm under her legs and gently lifted her back onto the bed. Running back into the bathroom he wet a washcloth under the cold tap then grabbed the trashcan just in case on his way back to the bed. Gently he wiped her face and neck, waiting for her to come around. Her eyes inched opened as she groaned; he recognized the look on her face and rolled her onto her side, brushing her hair aside as he did so, and lifting the trashcan at the same time. He smiled when she scowled as the contents of her stomach came up; if she was irritated that meant she was ok, it was when she was quiet that he had to worry.

"I thought we had established that you have to sit up slowly and give your equilibrium time to settle after a nap?" he teased softly, stroking her cheek. Sara glared at him.

"I'm sorry," she groaned. "I ruined the experiment." Her hands ran lovingly over her belly. "Baby girl, I love you very much, but do I really need so much sleep?" asked Sara as she took slow, deep, calming breaths. Gil started laughing and bent to kiss his wife's temple.

"I was going to wake you up soon," he said as he carefully manoeuvred her so she was sitting up against the pillows. Returning to the bathroom again he returned with two cups of sweetened tea and an orange. Settling beside her he handed over a mug and then began to peel an orange.

"Thanks," sighed Sara gratefully. "Whatever would I do without you?"

"I have no idea," teased Gil. He handed her a piece of the orange. "How's your back feeling?"

"Much better. I can't believe I fell asleep," she grumbled, sipping her tea. Gil laughed as he finished dismantling the orange and dividing it up.

"Never mind. I still have one lecture left to do. Clyde wants to go out for dinner; he says there's a really good Indian restaurant a few blocks away and would we like to go?"

"Is it a real Indian restaurant?" asked Sara, her eyes lighting up.

"Owned by a family who emigrated from India ten years ago. So, how about it dear?"

"Definitely," she grinned. "I love Indian food."

"I know!" They sat quietly for a while, talking softly and musing over the conference so far until Sara decided that she wanted to go swimming before dinner. They changed and headed downstairs.

"We have to go back to the beach while we're still here," she said as they walked into the pool house.

"Mmm," he agreed, as they hung up their robes and towels.

"You should go surfing if you want to," she told him, "don't let me stop you." He took her hand and helped her down the steps into the water.

"I would rather wait until we can go together," he said, truthfully. "But I wouldn't mind watching the sun set with you." Sara's answer was a soft press of her lips to his.

...

As the blistering heat had cooled into an acceptable, balmy evening, the group opted to walk to the restaurant. Talk was vibrant and chaotic as Clyde and Hans debated about teaching methods relating to the study of ants, and Nikko tried to impress a young grad student named Heidi he had found in a corner of the lecture hall the previous day. Gil and Sara walked hand in hand, laughing at Clyde as he suddenly veered into a heated monologue about the Six Nations Championship.

"What is he talking about?" asked Sara, watching their friend wave his arms around him irritation and rant on about the bloody French.

"I think its rugby," speculated Gil, dodging a flying arm.

"A ridiculous loss, I can't even begin to imagine what he was thinking! Those French players, they really think they have the right of," and he continued again, his language getting more foul by the second.

"Clyde," yelled Sara, stopping in front of him. The Welshman halted, shocked.

"What?"

"First, we don't know what you're talking about, second, calm down. If you keep gesticulating with such wild abandon, you're going to hurt someone, and third, stop swearing. I don't want my daughter exposed to that kind of language." Clyde gaped at her for a moment, the fight knocked out of him. But, sadly, only for a moment.

"I was talking about rugby, which by definition demands a great amount of excitement and is the sport of kings. I played for Wales, the two best years of my life before some bloody French bastard tackled me and destroyed my knee. That however, is beside the point. I was talking about the abysmal loss of the Six Nations Tournament to the French in February this year. A disgusting lack of appropriate refereeing and a revolting disregard of the rules by the aforementioned continental team. And your baby can't hear us; she's tucked safely in the womb, protected by tissue and fluid." They started walking again as Hans slipped into the discussion.

"I disagree, Clyde" he remarked as the approached the street they were heading for. "The American Journal of Obstetrics and Gynaecology published a study suggesting that the unborn foetus can,"

As they argued back and forth, Gil slipped an arm around Sara's waist.

"Annoying, aren't they," he whispered in her ear.

"I definitely see why you can only stand to see them every so often. They weren't this bad last time we saw them."

"That was in winter. The hotter it gets, the crankier and more volatile Clyde gets." They lagged behind slightly until they reached the restaurant, not a moment too soon as far as Sara was concerned; as a food connoisseur, rations meant Clyde would be kept occupied for a while. They entered the building, which was brightly decorated and cool. A woman in a traditional sari approached them, her greying hair pinned up in a bun and a wide, genuine smile on her face.

"स्वागत"

she said, "I am Kajri."

"नमस्ते आपसे मिलकर बहुत ख़ूशी हुई। धन्यवाद"

answered Sara, automatically.

"Table for six?" asked Kajri, before leading them to a booth for six. After taking their drinks order she handed out menus and left; Sara eagerly scanned the options.

"I think it's very sexy when you speak a foreign language," Gil whispered in her ear. Sara laughed and started murmuring words of love in French for him. Under the table his hand caressed her thigh.

"What did you say to that lady?" asked Nikko from his seat opposite Sara.

"She welcomed us, so I said thank you, it's nice to meet you."

"Was that Hindi?" asked Heidi.

"Yes," agreed Sara, "I love the way the language sounds." Their drinks arrived, and they placed their food order. Clyde and Hans appeared to be emerging from their debate about the perceptions and abilities of unborn babies.

"So Sara," said Clyde, leaning his elbows on the table and looking across at her. "Where did you learn Hindi?"

"I spent three summers in India during college working with a conservation project. I picked up Hindi and a little Bengali. I can read a bit of Hindi, road signs and things like that, but I can't write it at all."

"I wanted to spend my year abroad in India," sighed Clyde, "but my mother wouldn't let me. I had to go to France instead."

"I spent six months in Mexico," grinned Hans, "Maria Lopez, ahhh... she was my first love."

"My father is a German diplomat," said Heidi, sipping her drink. "We moved around a lot. Mostly Europe; Germany, France, Switzerland, Austria and then the US."

"I wasn't allowed to do an exchange year," admitted Nikko, "my mother was afraid I would get into too much trouble." The group burst into laughter as Nikko turned the colour of a radish and knocked his silverware off the table, causing their merriment to double.

"Gil, did you spend a year abroad?" asked Hans.

"Not in high school," replied Grissom, wrapping an arm around Sara's shoulders. "But I spent eighteen months researching in Peru for my PhD."

"So you've been there before?" asked Clyde, interested.

"Yes, I loved it. I always wanted to go back."

"And it was very nice to visit him there," added Sara, smiling. "We went to Machu Pichu, which has always been at the top of my list of places to see."

"Did you go on an exchange year?" asked Heidi, curious.

"I lived with a family in high school that sent me to France for a semester because they didn't like me, and I studied in Istanbul for a year in college. That was incredible."

"So, you're very well travelled then," remarked Clyde.

"Well, until college France was the only place I had ever been, and when I was in India I was working, but I really enjoyed it. I fell completely in love with the food and the culture. I saved as much as I could, and after graduation I backpacked around Europe until I started grad school. I had every intention of going back afterwards." Sara smiled, remembering how awed she had been, wandering the streets of Europe and exploring. She had felt such a sense of history surrounding her.

"Did you go back?" asked Heidi, who struck Sara as the very romantic type.

"No," replied Sara, a smirk spreading over her face. "I went to a seminar about forensics that changed the direction of my life." Under the table she reached for Gil's hand and slipped hers into his, lacing their fingers together.

...

After the meal Sara and Gil lagged behind as the group, in part because Sara was too tired to keep up their brisk pace, and also because Clyde's incessant need for dialogue had kept the conversation flowing rapidly throughout the entire meal, without pause to gather thoughts or relax. Gil slid his arm around Sara's waist, his fingers spreading across her belly as she let her head rest lightly on his shoulder.

They bid goodnight to their friends in the lobby and made their way upstairs.

"Do you want to go to bed?" he asked, gently rubbing his fingers over the spot where he could feel a tiny foot pummelling under his touch.

"Not yet," smiled Sara, walking over to the balcony sliding doors. Outside there were two lounge chairs and a view of the ocean. They curled up together to watch the sun set and solve the crossword out of the morning paper.

...

...

Just a quick note; I do not speak Hindi, so any mistakes are entirely mine, for which I appologise.


	26. Chapter 26

Friday morning rolled around quickly, and with it the end of the academic portion on the conference. After breakfast Sara and Gil joined the gathering in the main hall the conference had used. Sara could feel the excitement running through her husband as they walked over to the starting line of the roach finals. Fifteen roaches would race for five prizes; watching all the bug lovers around her crane the necks to see the racers get ready, Sara forced herself not to laugh and contented herself with an amused smirk instead. Seemingly, this was a serious business she mused, seeing the medal podium for the top five. She moved to the finish line with her camera and Gil stood next to Clyde and Rose, a recent college graduate and conference first timer.

They readied their contenders; Gil and Sara had managed to get Blake and Emerson through, as well as their wild card Freud. Clyde had been flummoxed when only Grass made it to the finals; in his semifinal heat, Weed had refused to budge from the start line until every other roach had crossed the finish, and Herb had been disqualified in the quarter finals for taking the course in reverse. Sara readied her camera as the referee raised the start flag. Sara clicked the shutter button to video the race. The noise was deafening as the roaches were released; the owners watched tensely as the crowd shouted and cheered their favorites on. Even Sara felt herself yelling for Freud as the roach established a strong lead. Gil came running to the end of the track, slipping into a space next to her as Freud crossed the finish line; Sara shrieked with joy as Hans and Nikko roared with approval. They race ended when the last two racers tied for fourteenth place.

Money began change hands between those who had placed bets; only entomologists would gamble on bugs, thought Sara shaking her head with a smile. She watched and photographed as the fifth place medal, was awarded to Grass as Clyde smirked like a kid high on stolen cake. Fourth place was given to Emerson, and third to Blake as Hans questioned Gil on just how it was he managed to do so well with his racers. Rose, and her roach Martin, took the silver medal, leaving gold for Freud. Elated, Gil walked over to Sara and placed the gold medal around her neck before wrapping an arm around her shoulders. The room dissolved into the post conference party as the competitors gathered up their pets. Sara examined the medals as they took the roaches back upstairs. They were real metal, and had the conference logo and dates etched onto the back, as well as a detailed roach engraved into the front.

Amused at the folly of the entomological world, she sat down on the bed, examining all three awards as Gil settled and fed his prize runners.

"What do you want to do now dear?" asked Gil, sitting next to her.

"You want to go back down to the party?" she returned. He shrugged,

"Not particularly. How about we go back to the beach?"

"Definitely," she grinned, getting up to find some shorts.

…

They went back to the cove; getting lost in the tide pools and paddling in the warm ocean. Sara filled her memory card with exquisite photographs of tiny life forms, while Gil followed the path of crab searching for food. By the time they watched the sun set, curled together in the sand, Sara was almost asleep in Gil's arms.

…

The next morning they had time to eat, pack and get to the airport, where their flight was delayed two hours. Arriving in Chicago a technical issue with the plane kept them from disembarking from the aircraft for another hour and twenty minutes. Tired and cranky from the motion sickness induced vomiting, Sara argued with the ticketing officer after they missed their connection. Gil stood back, rather than get involved. It was better to let Sara vent her anger than it would be to attempt calming her; a tired, sick and pregnant Sara was not a reasonable Sara. An hour later as they boarded a flight to New Hampshire, settling into their first class seats, a complementary upgrade from the director of the ticketing office, Gil bit his lip to suppress a laugh and helped Sara to stow her carry-on bag.

…

Getting out of the car they could hear the chorus of barks behind the front door. As they walked inside they were swamped by animals. Lucy threw herself at them as Hank charged at Gil's legs. Sara struggled into the living room and sank onto the sofa where Lucy crawled into her lap and planted her forepaws on her mistress' shoulders before sniffing her all over. Sara laughed and tickled her ears. A loud and insistent meow caught her attention just before Juliet pounced on Lucy; the two rolled away, wrestling. Socks sauntered into Sara's lap, purring happily.

"Hey baby," hummed Sara, scooping the black cat up into her arms. Gil sank down next to her, plucking Romeo from the coffee table as he did so.

"What are you doing on there hmm?" he asked the ball of silver fur. A paw darted out to smack his cheek. Sara giggled and reached out to scratch his chin.

The doorbell rang and Gil, too tired to move from his seat and having spotted a familiar green car out the window, yelled

"Come in Candy." He flopped back into the cushions, yawning as Hank propped his head on Gil's knees, a pitiful expression in his eyes as he begged for attention. Lucy barked excitedly as Candy walked in; racing over to greet the girl. Candy produced a treat from her pocket, slipping it to the puppy. Instantly, Hank abandoned Grissom's petting and ran to the newcomer, seeking his own treats.

"Hi guys," said the teen, her gaze sweeping over the exhausted pair. "I called and there was no answer, so I figured you were delayed and I'd better come over and feed them dinner."

"Delayed in not the term I'd use," snorted Sara, getting to her feet to give her friend a hug. Behind her, Grissom shook his head at Candy, warning her not to go there. With a slight raise of her eyebrows, Candy proceeded to regale them with the news of the last week or so.

"And everyone behaved," she concluded, picking up Juliet. "Except for Romeo collecting socks and stashing them under the crib. I don't know where he got them from, but his collection kept multiplying." Gil looked at the kitten in his lap; Romeo reached up and batted his fingers.

"Yeah, he's good at that," he admitted. "Thank you for looking after them," he said, his sentiment sincerely heartfelt.

"Oh, no problem," grinned Candy, "it was a blast. My pleasure." Sara straightened from digging in their case and handed Candy a paper bag.

"Thank you, for everything," she said softly as Candy took the present and opened it, revealing a set of natural color oil pastels.

"Wow, these are beautiful," murmured the girl. "Thanks," she grinned, and then asked,

"So how did the cockroaches do?" Gil unzipped his backpack and lifted out the jar, settling them on the coffee table.

"They were brilliant," he exclaimed, pulling out the medals to show Candy.

"You get actual medals," asked the girl, stunned.

"It's excellent," said Gil excitedly. Sara rolled her eyes for Candy's benefit as her husband launched into a detailed account of their racing exploits. Sara wandered into the kitchen to make tea; once the kettle was on she sat down at the table and leaned her head on her hands, gazing at Shakespeare. The fluid, dreamlike movements of the beautiful fish made her smile softly. She inhaled deep, gentle breaths, letting tension roll away from her body and clearing her mind.

In the living room Candy quietly filled Grissom in on the shelter team's plans for the next day. He listened attentively and nodded in agreement with her. When Sara came back with tea, they were busily playing with the roaches, having let the dogs outside and shut the cats out of the room.

…

"Mmm," sighed Sara as she stretched happily in the kitchen doorway the next morning. "What's on the agenda today?" She walked over to her husband, seated at the kitchen table, and stole a mouthful of his cornflakes. He pulled her down into his lap and kissed her gently.

"Nothing much," he mused, and indicated the bowl and spoon already set out for her. Sliding into her chair Sara grinned at him and poured herself some cereal.

"We need groceries," she mused, her finger tracing Shakespeare's movements along the side of the tank.

"I'll take care of that," said Gil, absently petting Juliet as she stretched up on her back legs and planted her front paws on his thigh. Sara turned to him, eyebrows raised. They normally tackled weekend chores together.

"Candy is taking you out this afternoon," he admitted.

"Ok, and I haven't heard about this before because…?"

"Ah, it's some secret girl ritual thing," he fumbled pathetically. Pressing on, he truthfully added, "I didn't pressure her for details. She assured me it wouldn't be dangerous." Sara snorted,

"Oh yeah, that makes me feel so much better. So what do you know?"

"Nothing," he protested, face now poker smooth. She eyed him suspiciously.

"Fine, but I'm holding you accountable if I need to."

"Of course dear!"

…

Candy arrived at three thirty, whistling cheerfully as she let Sammie into the yard to play with her friends. Sara opened the door, frowning.

"Where are we going?" she asked by way of greeting. Candy smirked.

"Wouldn't you like to know," she replied with a grin. "You ready?"

"I don't know," retorted Sara. She gestured to her outfit, "am I?"

"That's fine," replied the teenager, nodding at Sara's jeans and flowing green shirt. "Let's go."

"Have a good time," said Gil wickedly, waving them off.

"I knew it," muttered Sara as they got in the car.

"Knew what?" asked Candy, starting the engine.

"That he knew more than he was letting on."

"Of course he did, I had to warn him."

"What?" Sara turned to her friend, who kept her eyes fixed on the road.

"Ok," relented Candy. "This wasn't my idea, and I tried to talk them out of it. But Mikah felt so bad about upsetting you that she was looking for a way to make up for it."

"Up for what and how?"

"The whole iPad picture ambush! I did make them swear to follow the rules; practical, eco-friendly, no clutter and no pink, but I couldn't curb all of their enthusiasm. I tried explaining it really wasn't your kind of thing, but, well, yeah… I did my best."

"Candy, where are we going?" asked Sara, her alarm growing with each passing word. Candy sighed, still looking straight ahead.

"To your baby shower."

…

Sara surveyed the break room with an amused smile.

"I take it you were on the decorating committee," she murmured in Candy's ear. Her friend nodded, grinning. The walls were covered not with tacky pink or blue banners, but with purple and green, hand-drawn butterfly and caterpillar cut outs, each of which was individually painted and detailed.

"I thought you could use them as wall decorations if you wanted to; they'll match the quilt."

"They're beautiful," smiled Sara, examining the closest butterfly. Mary, Mariah, Mikah, Mabel and Mae were already there, having been on shift before the party. As they talked with Candy and Sara, the rest of the M's arrived, along with Kenzie and Alana, Mary's two teenage girls who often helped out after school and Rachel, a veterinary student who had spent the past three months interning with Mariah.

The talk was good, and the games were only mildly embarrassing and occasionally funny, but when all attention turned to her and the pile of baby gifts her well-wishers had presented her with, Sara cringed with discomfort and the feeling that she was back in the witness box being interrogated by some money grubbing reincarnation of the devil masquerading as a defense attorney. Candy jumped in to rescue her and began passing out drinks and snacks, keeping people's attention from focusing solely on Sara. Before they knew it, time was up and people had other commitments to attend to.

"Thank you so much for rescuing me," sighed Sara as Candy pulled out onto the main road.

"No problem. Did you enjoy any of it?" asked Candy worriedly, signaling to change lanes.

"Yes I did," said Sara thoughtfully, "I just hate being the center of attention."

"Same here," came the cheerful answer. "But look on the bright side; you got a ton of cool baby stuff."

…

"You look like you survived alright," remarked Gil, as Candy left with a wave. Sara glared at him, and then smiled.

"It wasn't that bad," she conceded, "except for when they were all staring at me like an audience at the movies. There was so much estrogen in that room I felt like I was drowning in it."

"I think they meant well," he told her as they spread the gifts over the spare bed to examine them.

"Oh I know they did," she laughed, opening a wrapped box from Mabel. "And I appreciate the thought. It's just not my thing." She pushed aside a sheet of purple tissue paper, clearly Candy's explanation of the rules had stuck with everyone, and unearthed a collection of knitted animals. "Wow," she murmured, lifting them out. Gil stopped examining the baby monitor from Mary and looked over his wife's hands. The collection contained all the typical zoo animals, pets and wild animals; twenty five creatures in all, and each no taller than six inches.

"Did she make these?" asked Gil incredulously, as he examined a cheetah and an owl. Sara put down a Shetland pony and stared at a meerkat.

"Oh yeah, Mabel knits at about fifty yards an hour. I watched her on her lunch break once; she doesn't even need to look at what she's doing. Then again, she has six kids and ten grandkids, with another three due next year. Her three daughters-in-law are all expecting in February, if you can believe that. Candy told me that Mabel's golden wedding anniversary party was in June, and that the alcohol was flowing very well."

Gil laughed at the thought.

"Imagine if they all delivered on the same day," he mused merrily. Sara shuddered and opened a bag to reveal solid color body suits.

"I like these," she smiled, looking at the cheerful colors.

"Matching socks," he laughed, pulling them out of the bag and showing her. Hearing her name, Socks came running into the room and bounded onto the bed, landing in the middle of a pile of clothing. She scrabbled for balance, her feet sliding out from under her. Gil plucked her off the bed and tickled her belly as she curled her back into his arm, staring up at him.

With Socks helping, he and Sara sorted through the remainder of gifts and scrawled notes of thanks. They conducted an inventory of what they had and what they didn't while munching on fruit and yoghurt. Laughing and joking together, neither noticed that they were now operating under a much more optimistic outlook.

...

I hope you enjoyed this chapter; please let me know what you think :)

Up next: I am editing the next chapter of Ethereal Theory and then working on the next part of this story; lots of excitment coming up in a few chapters...


	27. Chapter 27

As Gil was still on summer break, he accompanied Sara to work that week. Animal Ark's annual gala was to be held in two weeks, and there were plenty of volunteer tasks for him to work on. While Sara carried out her normal duties, he gave wooden walls and fences a fresh coat of preservative stain, trimmed back the hedges and flower beds and helped with indoor and outdoor building maintenance.

On Tuesday afternoon Sara and Candy were sitting in the office, working on the accounts when the fish boy, who had so kindly and freely bestowed Shakespeare into Sara's care, his mother and the three soccer playing siblings trooped in through the door.

"Connor?" asked Candy, surprised. He glared at her, his shoulders hunched and his feet dragging on the floor as he shuffled after his mother. He appeared to have gained a few more piercings since Sara had seen him last. The three siblings, once again clad in uniform, albeit this time for the Hannover Hawks softball team, trailed dutifully behind him. Their bright blonde hair and yellow sports clothing once again reminded Sara strongly of a string on recently hatched ducklings.

The mother looked imperiously at Candy,

"Candida-Camille," she said haughtily, "what are you doing here?" Candy sighed heavily at the use of her full name and pushed her hair behind her ears.

"I work here Aunt Gertrude," she said, with long suffering patience.

"I see," replied the woman, her expression sour.

"How may we help you?" Sara asked politely. The woman regarded her as though Sara were a fly trespassing on a dinner plate.

"I'm here to make a deposit," Gertrude replied stiffly, hefting a box onto the counter and setting it down with a thud. Sara winced for whatever was inside.

"What kind of deposit?" asked Sara, a little hesitant. The boy, Connor, sulked in the corner; his sickly green hair a storm of chaotic spikes and his clothes scuffed, torn and mottled with patches of ground in dirt.

The three sexless blonde athletes were craning to see around their mother, eyes bright and curious as she attempted to gently swat them back, as though they were in danger. Candy eyed the box with apprehension.

"A living one," said Gertrude, her voice clipped. She spoke as though each word cost her dearly, and made her a poorer woman for parting with them. "I have no room for such a creature in my house."

"Mom, you promised I could have a pet and you never specified what kind," Conner suddenly snapped. "You made me give up Anthrax, and now you want to give Ebola away too." Gertrude spun to face him, her expression thunderous. As if they knew what was coming, the three younger sibs scrambled away from the counter they had been trying to scale to cower behind her, out of the line of fire.

"I promised you could have a pet if your grades improved," growled Gertrude, her eyes flashing. "I said we would discuss the matter when and if the time came, including the type of pet."

"I had a solid A- average last semester," Conner protested hotly, his face red with rage. "Now I have an A+ in science and in social studies; you didn't even read the report I showed you on the Black Death did you?" When Gertrude failed to answer Conner shook his head.

"What about the note that Mr. Silas wrote? About how good my lab report was and how impressed he was with my work?"

"You blew up your work station," accused his mother. Three round faces lit up with delight at this outburst. "You go looking for attention and ways to cause damage."

"It was an accident," roared Conner, tears in his eyes. "The chemicals were bad. Even the principal told you that when you came to get me. You don't even care," he growled. "I'm practically invisible to you, just because Dad isn't my real father like he is theirs," he pointed an accusing finger at the three faces peering around Gertrude's considerable girth. They stared at him, confused. Conner lunged for his box; his mother tried to hold him back and the box toppled over the counter, breaking open on the desk in front of Sara. Candy screamed in terror.

"Out," thundered Gertrude, herding her brood out of the door; she fixed Conner with a beady eye as they moved, "You and I will talk later boy," she promised.

Sara backed up against the far wall, fighting to keep calm. Candy was hysterical as she scrambled up onto the filing cabinet, shaking uncontrollably. The three foot long Ebola unwound herself and slowly slithered onto the floor, her head twitching first one way and then the other. Her tiny eyes fixed on Sara for a moment, before she slipped under the counter.

Sara willed herself to move; she had encountered snakes before, and while she didn't like them, she wasn't necessarily afraid. Until now. Her muscles refused to budge as the python moved under the table containing the fax machine and printer. Sara tried to speak, but only managed a croak. On top of the filing cabinet Candy was sobbing in terror. Sara swallowed and tried to clear her throat. It took several tries before she was able to bellow,

"Tom," at the top of her lungs. The vet appeared after a few moments, his eyes narrowed. Sara pointed.

"Snake," she gasped.

"Really?" the people shy man brightened and crouched down to look. "Wow," he murmured, fascinated. "What a beauty."

"You can have it," said Sara dryly, as she worked to steady her breathing. "Really, I don't mind. It's all yours, as long as you get it out of here."

"Just let me go get something to put it in," he replied, getting to his feet, clearly enthralled. Feeling sick, Sara stayed pressed against the wall, her eyes riveted on the spot where the snake was hiding as Tom left the room. He left the door open in his wake, something both Sara and Ebola noticed at the same time. Still moving sluggishly from shock and fear, Sara didn't make it to the doorway before the python. Out she went, slithering happily down the hallway.

"Tom," shrieked Sara, now slightly hysterical herself as she followed the escapee. As much as she wanted to run as far away as she could, the knowledge that she might lose the snake and end up working with it likely to appear anywhere at any time kept her trailing it. The vet came running, a large plastic box in his hands. "It's on the run," she informed him, pointing to the surgery doors, where Ebola was sliding happily inside.

"Wow, she's quick," he remarked, impressed. Sara glared at him behind his back. They followed the snake into the vet surgery, shutting the door as they looked around.

"Over there," said Sara, waving anxiously at the operating table. Tom approached carefully and slowly, but Ebola slithered off under the row of cabinets containing medical supplies. She was convinced he was going to catch it, when a head emerged by the counter end where she was standing, less than six inches from her feet. Sara yelled in shock, and jumped back somewhat clumsily. The snake vanished.

"Was that really necessary?" accused Tom reprovingly. "You scared her!" Sara glared at the back of his head as he got down on his hands and knees to inspect the cabinet base.

The door opened and Gil looked in curiously.

"Why is Candy sitting on top of the filing cabinet?" he enquired. "She seems almost catatonic. Who screamed?" His gaze flickered over her, taking in the slightly disheveled clothing and wary eyes, and then moved to Tom, who was sliding along the floor on his belly.

"I did," said Sara, backing even further away from the counter. She jerked a thumb at Tom. "He's trying to catch an escaped snake."

"Really?" asked Gil, intrigued. He stepped into the room and closed the door, looking around expectantly. Sara scowled at him and he raised an eyebrow in question.

"Shakespeare's former owner came in with his mother," she told him. "Seemingly he acquired another pet that she didn't approve of. Ebola escaped during a heated discussion between the two parties."

"Ebola?" he asked, his other eyebrow rising to meet its partner.

"Anthrax," Sara reminded him with a shrug. He nodded, and looked at the floor, where the snake was escaping again. This time they lost her in the store room where medicines and the more valuable supplies were kept. Feeling sick, Sara backed out of the room and left them to it.

…

In the office, Candy was sitting in her chair again sipping water and leaning sideways against the wall as she practiced deep, even breaths.

"You ok?" asked Sara as she sank gratefully into her own chair. Candy's eyes flashed for a moment, and then she nodded.

"I hate snakes," she said passionately. "I just loath them. They make my skin crawl."

"Why?" asked Sara. "I'm not a fan, but they unnerve me more than anything."

"I was bitten by a rattle snake when I was seven. One of my cousins thought he was playing with a grass snake when he decided to chase me with it." Candy shivered at the memory.

"Well, don't worry; both Tom and my other half are now trying to catch the thing." Sizing up her friend's lingering anxiety Sara changed tracks. "Is that woman really your aunt?" The girl rolled her eyes and nodded.

"She's my dad's third sister. Conner's father was her college boyfriend; he overdosed on Speed while trying to stay awake to study for his second year medical exams before Conner was even born. Conner looks exactly like him, which is why I think Aunt Gertrude is so hard on him. My dad says that Martin was her one true love, and that she married Dean on the rebound."

"That's really sad," said Sara.

"Yeah, Dean really loves Conner though; he adopted him as a baby and they spend a lot of time together. Dean's a geologist and he takes Conner out in the field sometimes. And Conner is really close with the terrible trio as well, despite the age difference."

"Terrible trio?" laughed Sara.

"Elijah, Ella and Edward," smirked Candy. "And let me tell you, Ella may be the only girl, but she is most definitely the dominant sibling."

She paused for a moment, thinking as they tidied up the disheveled desk. "Conner is a smart kid, he really likes science, but he gets a bad reputation because of his appearance and because he's interested in disease. He told me he wants to study pathology. He's just starting high school and Mr. Silas, the teacher he was talking about? He was my eighth grade science teacher too and he's recommended Conner for the advanced science track."

"That's good," nodded Sara, glancing at the open door as a bang echoed down the hallway. She rolled her chair backwards, peering through the doorway. Seeing nothing and hearing silence she shrugged at Candy and rolled back to desk, one hand absently rubbing her sore lower back as she opened the invoice draw of the filing cabinet.

"I hope he does well," mused Candy. "He's actually very nice, when you get past the piercings and the overused hair gel. Maybe my dad could talk Aunt Gertrude into letting him adopt one of our rescue dogs at the fundraiser."

Sara was about to reply when Grissom walked into the room. She took in his appearance with an amused smirk. Sweating slightly, Gil drank heavily from a glass of water, his hair sticking up in tufts and his clothing in severe disarray.

"Tell me you caught the wretched thing!" demanded Candy, her eyes still slightly wild with fear. Gil drained his glass and nodded, his breathing still slightly elevated.

"She got out of the supply closet through a busted vent; we were chasing her around the yard by the kennels. I tripped over a tree root and Tom slipped in a massive pile of donkey dung. We chased her around the building, lost her in the small animal hall, and then finally caught her by the staff room, but not before knocking over the entire stack of crates that were delivered yesterday." He heaved a deep breath and tried to pull his clothes back into place. Running his fingers through disheveled hair, he glanced at the clock.

"We need to go honey," he said, nodding at the time. Sara nodded and gathered her things.

"See you tomorrow," she told Candy. The girl nodded and pulled out a pad of paper to work on some poster and sign designs for the open day.

…

Doctor Lenoir's office was peacefully quiet after the chaos of the snake hunt. Sara leaned snuggly against Gil, her eyes closed in relaxation as they waited.

"Tom's going to keep the snake," said Gil softly, one hand gently running up and down her back as he spoke. "Apparently he has as collection of reptiles." Sara hummed softly in response, tucking her head into his shoulder. "I wonder if that's why he has such trouble with the ladies," mused Gil, kissing the top of her head.

They were spared from further ponderings of that topic by the arrival of Amira Lenoir.

"Hello Sara, Gil. How are you today?"

The doctor was brief and efficient with her exam; waiting until she was done to invite questions, comments and concerns.

"Ok, baby girl there looks great, very healthy and developing nicely," she told them, handing over printouts for them. "I have one slight concern though; Sara you're at the bare minimum of weight gain and though it's not really a problem, I would like to see you gain just a little more."

They talked for a few minutes more, Doctor Lenoir assuring them that everything was fine, that there was no danger to the baby, and that both mother and child were doing very well. She walked through their diet with them and made a few suggestions, and then let them go with the next appointment date and a clean bill of health.

An hour later Sara lay drowsily on the sofa with Socks and Romeo sprawled on her chest while Gil made dinner. Sleepily she gazed at an image of her baby's face, showing Romeo when the kitten batted the paper. When he cocked his head to the side as though studying the picture, she smiled lazily as her eyes drifted shut.

…

On Friday morning Gil woke early and rolled carefully onto his side. Sara was curled up facing him, a strand of hair falling across her nose and a hint of a smile gracing her lips as she slumbered. He took his time in studying her sleeping form; the soft glow of her skin, the thick mass of long chocolate curls, the gentle tickle of her eyelashes delicately casting tiny shadows on her skin in the early morning glow of a golden dawn. His gaze slid reverently over the curves and contours of her neck, shoulders, arms and chest until it fixed on her swollen belly, draped in the light summer sheet. They were lucky, he mused, oh so lucky to have another chance at this. He remembered with vivid clarity the devastation of the loss of their first child. They had been teaching a course on forensics together in London and had gone for a walk during their lunch break. The walk had ended at the hospital, and by the time night crept in their baby was gone.

Months later they were living in Paris, enjoying the food and the culture, taking in the sights and sounds of a foreign city. He taught during the day; sometimes Sara snuck into his lectures, sitting in the back, quietly taking notes or just simply observing; always with a soft, dreamy smile on her face. Other days she ventured out alone, wandering the streets and photographing the architecture. One evening they had walked home from his lecture together, only to have her collapse before they made it. They were rushed to the hospital, with Gil trying his best to answer the rapid fire French questions. By the time they arrived Sara's jeans were soaked with blood and she was wavering in and out of consciousness, tears of pain running down her face.

Watching her sleep so peacefully next to him, Gil stroked her cheek and nuzzled her hair when she curled into him with a sigh. The doctor who had treated her spoke better English than his French, and had explained that a placental deformity had caused the fetal death, and because Sara was at seventeen weeks, they would have to do a dilation and evacuation the following morning. Throughout the night she had slept heavily; sedated to manage the pain, said the doctor, though which type he didn't clarify. Gil stayed in a chair, his head resting on the mattress next to her shoulder, his hand clinging to hers as he fought off tears and desolation.

Coming around from the surgery Sara was distraught, sobbing quietly in his arms. When the doctor admitted that afternoon that while they had indeed removed all of the fetus, there had been serious complications and they were unlikely to conceive again Gil had felt something come loose inside himself, as though a newly realized and long buried dream had been snatched from them in the cruelest of ways. Courtesy of the French surgeon's mistake Sara was slow to heal physically, suffering from a series of nasty infections and a great deal of physical pain.

Emotionally, they were bound tighter together in their shared loss. They talked and remembered until their voices were raw and their eyes sore from the tears. They sat in the park and enjoyed the quiet solitude of nature, sadly agreeing that perhaps it was not meant to be. Two months after the event, with Sara finally feeling well again they drove to the coast one weekend and found a secluded spot overlooking the ocean. They ate a picnic tea, and cuddled together on the blanket.

As the sun began to set they walked to the edge of the cliff. The hospital had given them a tiny jar of ashes; the tiny remains of the baby they had learned would have been their son. When the first rays of the sun touched the ocean Gil gently unscrew the cap and tilted the jar, letting the light breeze carry the ashes of little Max out to sea. They stood there, in each other's arms, until the last ray of sunlight vanished below the horizon, letting go and saying goodbye.

Sara sighed in her sleep, and Gil grinned, knowing she was starting to wake. Gently he stroked the skin of the arm she had pushed against his chest, his touch reverently tracing her fingers. He slid a hand over her shoulder, running it slowly down her side and over her belly. He caressed her stomach, a knot of joy tight in his chest as the baby shifted under his touch. Sara exhaled softly, and rolled onto her back with a slight purr of pleasure. Feeling an overwhelming sense love and hope at their creation of another, flourishing life, Gil kissed her navel and moved up her body, trailing kisses until he came to her lips. Slowly, taking his time and thoroughly enjoying himself, he kissed her into wakefulness.

"Happy birthday dear," he breathed into her ear before kissing her passionately. Sara groaned softly into his embrace, twining her limbs around him. With a slow, adoring rhythm he made love to her; his kisses filled with emotion, his touch feather light yet searing and his eyes staring into hers with the fire of devotion.

After showering together and dressing, Gil guided her to the kitchen table while he made breakfast. Sara watched, amused, as he mixed batter, hated the waffle iron and washed berries. When he sat next to her and handed over her plate she grinned at him and shook her head. Leaning sideways she kissed him lightly, laughing.

"I haven't got a cake," he admitted. Drawn in syrup, and then outlined in the berries was a slightly wobbly three and a nine. Still laughing, she kissed him again.

…

"Shall we go out for dinner?" asked Gil as they drove toward Animal Ark. "Your choice, of course."

Sara leaned back in her chair; her head turned sideways and gaze settling comfortably on him.

"I don't know," she mused, "It sounds nice, but so does an evening of just us. Peace and quiet." Gil pulled up at a red light and turned to look at her.

"What?" he asked with a grin, noticing her radiant smile.

"Have I told you yet today exactly how much I love you?" she asked.

"No," he replied, the corners of his mouth creeping up.

"Too much to put into words," she sighed happily. "To the ends of the earth and back again. More than there are stars in the universe." His laughter was a warm and rich sound that filled the cabin of the car. He leaned over to kiss her softly, his fingers trailing gently through her hair.

"Multiply all of that, and you might just scratch the surface of how I feel about you," he replied, teasingly. Her peals of laughter joined his; the contrasting tones a harmonious duet.

She kissed him back, and then sat upright once more, pointing to the traffic light.

"It's green dear, and we're going to be late for the morning meeting." He blew her another kiss, and turned his attention back to the road.


	28. Chapter 28

Old Annie McKinley, grandmother, great-grandmother, retired prima ballerina and bakery owner of the last forty-nine years reacted first. She was cleaning the windows in front of her cake display when it happened; the much used yellow cloth fluttered to the floor in a movement of grace and feather elegance. The bottle of cleaning fluid plummeted like a stone; the slight crack and loose pebble in the tile inlayed floor caught the base of the bottle, splitting it savagely in two. Blue liquid sprayed out in a circle around the wreckage, pooling and seeping into the porous white grouting; changing it irrevocably. Mrs. McKinley lunged for her telephone, all thoughts of bread and pastries vanished as her heart twisted.

Jack Norris, retired Marine Sergeant and father of three was walking home from the elementary school with Nora, his youngest, when he saw a blur of red out of the corner of his eye. A veteran of both Iraq and Afghanistan, he threw himself to the side when his hard learned automatic reactions fired. Cradling his two year old daughter to his chest he rolled, curled and took refuge behind a stand of fruit outside the general store. Nora wailed softly into his shirt as the red blur hit a bucket of mixed apples; a wet, fluffy mass of red and green coated the man and child as the force of the impact filleted the fruit into miniscule airborne particles.

Inside the general store Edgar Wallis, lifetime resident and sixty-five year owner, felt more than heard the impact outside his shop. He turned in time to see bunches of bananas and grapes tumble into the street. He scowled, thinking that the wretched Lawson kid was playing the hooligan yet again. Gripping his cane with tight ire, he made his way to the glass paned doorway, peering out into the street. The Norris boy was lying behind his strawberries, clutching his baby. Edgar liked Jack, who often helped the old man with jobs that were getting to be too much for his old bones these days. Edgar watched Jack sit up, soothing little Nora. Edgar had a soft spot for her; he often played with the child when Jack came to help. Satisfied they were fine, if not a little messy, Edgar looked up into the street. His eyes, a little cloudy with age but helped by thick glasses, were slower to focus than he would have liked. Seeing the mangled remains strewn across the street the old man clutched the doorframe, flashing back to his newly eighteen year old self on the beaches of Normandy, with the ever recurrent surge of terror gripping him in its iron cold vice.

Phoebe Miller, the sixteen year old daughter of the Mayor, was sitting at the bus station waiting for her ride to physiotherapy. Thinking about the argument with her father over breakfast that morning, she eyed Mr. Wallis' display of strawberries. They were her favorite food bar none, and his were always particularly succulent and tempting. She glanced at her watch; she was early, and the bus was never punctual. There was plenty of time to go and see the friendly old man. She gripped the wheels of her chair and began to roll toward the general store, thinking resentfully about her father. She hated being homeschooled; being unable to walk didn't mean she was unable to learn in a classroom. About to roll off the curb, she threw her wheels into reverse with a gasp. Her chair slammed into the wall behind her as the air screamed with the grating sound of metallic protestations. The thunderous crash pressed on the girl's eardrums; the wave of pressure in the air pushed against her lungs and sternum, making her gasp for breath.

…

A plume of dust rose into the air as the red van ploughed through the dry summer flowerbed diagonally across from the bakery before slamming into the brick wall on the other side. The van bounced back slightly, stopping with its rear tires atop a row of rose bushes. The wall cracked and wavered momentarily, before crumbling away from the point of impact and leaving a gaping hole into the church yard behind. The driver slithered from his seat to the ground and sat among the roses, dazed.

…

The immediate silence after the deafening noise of the crash was almost unbearable. Annie McKinley felt an acute pain in her soul, like the shattered knee that had so abruptly ended her ballet career. Jack gasped for air, his battle scars burning as he clutched his girl to him. Edgar felt the bullet rip through his chest again as he stared into the enemy's eyes once more. In her chair, closest to the red van, Phoebe's eyes and nose ached with the acidic tang of burned rubber, and the dirt and brick dust that had been thrust at her. She coughed and blinked rapidly, tears scouring the dirt away in hot, fiery tracks. Her vision slowly clearing, she took in the calamity before her.

The air was thick with a hazy combination of dust and loose, dry soil that slowly began to settle again, coating all it touched in its decent back to earth. It was such a gentle movement, in contrast to the ferocious intrusion that had thrust it out of place only an instant before; like snowflakes drifting dreamily in a raging thunder storm. Though silence reigned with absolute bearing as both engines cut out, all of the observers felt the continued scream of abused metal ringing deep in their ears and skulls, even their very bones. It was Nora's wailing cry that cut through the fog of destruction first.

As Annie hung up the phone and ran to the door of her shop, Jack was staggering to his feet with Nora. Turning, he saw Edgar in the throes of a flashback. Grabbing the old man, he forced him back to reality and pressed the baby into his arms.

"Call for help," he ordered softly. Edgar nodded, clutching the child securely. Phoebe rolled over to the red van driver; he was leaning into a rose, seemingly unaware of the thorns. Getting closer the girl wrinkled her nose at the sour scent seeping from pores of his skin and the fabric of his clothing. Wedged precariously against the open door of the van was a can; as the ground shifted slightly, unaccustomed to the new weight bearing down on it, the can tipped onto its side. A stream of dark brown liquid flowed out like water down a rocky fall. The beer pooled and swirled on the ground, smothering a handful of ants carrying food back to their nest. The man gave a hiccupping snort and leaned further back into the bush, eyes closed in slumber. With a disgusted hiss, Phoebe turned her chair and rolled quickly over to the other car.

The column supporting the traffic lights and street signs was in the middle of the back seat of the silver Prius. The car, miniscule in comparison to the red van, was bent into a v shape just behind the passenger chair. The woman was slightly twisted, blood running down the side of her face and through her hair. Her skin held a gray pallor that stood in deep contrast the dark brown of her hair and bright red of her blood. On the driver's side, the entire front end was smashed away where the van had first impacted. The door was buckled and the glass had shattered away; the wheel had been ripped from the axel by the angle and force of the impact, and the mirror hung crazily down the side, held on by only a single wire.

Jack reached for the man, finding a pulse with near incredulous relief. He tried to lean in and listen for breathing, but the mangled door was in his way. He studied it carefully and then began to work it loose. With careful pressure the lock popped free and the battered hinges swung open, the bottom edge dragged on the ground where the frame was distorted. Jack leant forward and felt a shallow flutter of warm air against his cheek. He let out a heavy breath he hadn't realized he was holding. In his peripheral vision he saw Annie McKenzie hurrying over and heard the wail of sirens start up three blocks away at the fire station.

Phoebe moved as close to the passenger as her chair would allow. While her legs barely allowed her to stand with braces and a crutch, her arms were hard with muscle conditioned by hundreds of hours of wheelchair basketball, archery and swimming. Using her strength now, she gripped the frame of the car above the shattered remains of the window and pulled her body over far enough that she could check for vital signs. Feeling a pulse, she glanced across the center console at Jack Norris, whom she sometimes saw in the general store when she went to visit old Edgar to talk about history. Jack nodded to her, his normally sunny face clouded with tight lines of tension.

The woman was breathing, but she was bleeding steadily from her left shoulder. Phoebe looked around for a cloth or scarf, anything she could get her hands on, to apply pressure to the wound and felt her heart clench. The woman, who Phoebe thought she had seen walking her dogs in the park a few times as she came home from afternoon swim lessons, was pregnant. Using the sleeve of her jacket she swept chunks of broken window aside. Grasping the door in an iron grip, she supported her weight with one arm and reached carefully around shards of the shattered window to press her palm against the lady's stomach. For a moment there was nothing, and then she felt the faint pressure of a tiny foot.

"It moved," she said softly. Blood dripped onto her hand and she thrust her gaze back to the shoulder wound, feeling her stomach roll when she saw the huge chunk of glass embedded in the joint. Clenching her teeth and forcing herself to breathe steadily, she maneuvered herself until most of her weight rested on the door frame at her hips and then used both hands to put pressure on the blood vessels above the wound.

Annie reached them, her eyes flickering over the victims with distraught recognition.

"Help is on the way," she said, moving to check on the other man, a flinty expression on her face as she took in his state. Jack ran gentle hands over the unconscious man, searching for injuries. His left arm was a mess and his collar bone was visibly broken. Jack tried to check his pupils, thinking back to what he'd learned as a marine, and heard an ambulance pull up. Glancing over he also saw a fire engine and police squad car. Two paramedics came sprinting over, their faces grim. Jack knew what they were thinking; the car was a mess of mangled metal, the chances of the occupants being anything less than seriously injured were slim. Seeing the number of casualties, they were already calling for more backup.

Jack stepped back gratefully as the professionals went to work in a flurry of calm, controlled activity. Police officers sealed off the area and redirected the traffic that had started to build up. Firemen rushed to assist in getting into the car. The man was the easiest to extract, and the first to be moved. Two firemen and one of the paramedics braced and then lifted him clear of the wreckage. He was assessed briefly, strapped to a backboard and treated with speed and urgency as his breathing worsened, air bubbling and rasping in his throat. His face and neck were covered in blood from a jagged gash across the top of his head. A second and third ambulance arrived; the man was whisked away in a wail of the siren that made the hairs on Jack's arms stand up. Feeling as though he had swallowed ice, he moved to stand by Phoebe; the teenager was staring at the action in front of her, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. He put a hand on her shoulder, where a perfect red print seeped deep into the weave of her shirt. Trembling, the girl reached up and covered his fingers with her own, her eyes never leaving the woman's immobile form.

Two paramedics worked quickly to stem the bleeding in the punctured shoulder, one leaning through the window, and the other on her knees balancing on the driver's seat and the center console.

"Shit," she cussed suddenly. Hers eyes flew to the firefighters. "We need to get her out right now," she cried. Her partner stared and looked where she pointed. "She's hemorrhaging. Badly!" Both paramedics immobilized the woman as best as possible, and then Simon, who leaned in through the open window, stepped back. Jillian held onto her patient as the firefighters rushed in with Jaws of Life, cutting away the roof and side panels of the car.

As the huge chunks of metal were tossed aside Simon moved back in, spat a curse and beckoned the fireman back again. Ensnared in the twisted remains of the front corner was an unnaturally bent leg. There was a rush of commands, the passing of an air splint, and the hiss and groan of machinery crunching through the vehicle. Within moments they were lifting the woman clear and rushing her away.

With the side of the vehicle removed, Phoebe and Jack could clearly see the passenger seat. The soft, pale fabric was peppered with glass fragments and torn across the top left corner. The entire seat and part of the lower back support was covered in the dark red stains of blood. Phoebe's gaze flicked over to the ambulance just as the rear doors were slammed shut.

Three weeks ago a greyhound puppy had scrambled up the front of her chair into her lap by the fish pond in the park. The puppy panted happily and licked her face as she petted it. The woman and her other dog, a polite boxer who had offered his paw in a handshake, had emerged from the nearby trail. The puppy it had seemed, wasn't really impressed with her training lessons and preferred to chase rabbits. Phoebe had laughed and listened to tales of mischief as the woman walked along the path with her. She was nice, the teenager recalled, staring sadly at the wreckage again. As the ambulance roared away Phoebe remembered something else; her name was Sara.


	29. Chapter 29

Jessica Norse swallowed her mouthful of apple and took a quick swig of water before glancing at the clock. She had three hours left on shift before she could go home and cook the spinach and mushroom quiche she had promised herself. Until then, her snack would have to do. She yawned deeply; of the seven prank playing frat brothers brought in at the start of her shift she had finally manage to send four home, get two admitted for twenty-four hour observation and the last transferred up to Endocrinology for conformation and treatment of type two diabetes onset. Her pager went off and she reflexively pulled it from her pocket to check. Incoming RTA patients; two critical, one minor. Pocketing the pager, she downed the rest of her water, grabbed a palmful of hand sanitizer and ran back to the Emergency Room. As chief attending physician, she was responsible for decisions, delegations and actions in the ER that morning. Alec, her chief aide, met her at the door. Linda and Missy were prepping treatment bays.

"Zoe," called Jessica, naming a senior nurse, "take the minor patient when he or she arrives. Alec, page Doctor Lane, we'll need her."

"Already done," grinned the tall, lanky South African. The unloading doors hissed open and their first patient arrived.

"Male, fifties, unconscious since before our arrival, obvious shoulder injury, likely fractures to the same arm. Breathing uneven and shallow, oxygen saturation poor, heart rate high but steady. Possible chest injury, laceration to the head."

Jessica took the monitor readout from the second media and scanned it as her team hurried to hook the man up to their own machines. She snapped on latex gloves with practiced ease and stepped in to listen to his heart and lungs. Gently palpating his chest she found suspicions of at least two fractured ribs. His pupil response was good, and the cuts running through his scalp were superficial and would require nothing more than a good cleaning and stitches. His left arm and shoulder were another story. The clavicle was definitely broken, as was the wrist. Despite being a hardened veteran of trauma medicine, when she looked at the sickening deformity of the shoulder and upper arm Jessica felt her stomach churn slightly.

"Alec, I want a CT and neck, shoulder, arm and torso x-rays. We need to see what's going on in here. Linda, let's get him a unit of o-negative too; there's a lot of blood on him." For a moment, Jess watched the monitors, happy to see that the man was stabilizing nicely. Missy was cutting away the last of his clothes; she pulled a wallet from his jeans pocket.

"Gilbert Grissom," she read, "he's from Las Vegas. Fifty-four last month, organ donor card, photo of the wife, and one of a sonogram." Jessica and the others turned to stare at her. "It's dated from Tuesday, and it says thirty weeks."

Alec put down the phone and turned to Jess.

"CT's free; he can go up right now."

"Send him, and alert the OR, the next one is a possible pregnant female, thirty weeks gestation." Alec uttered a phrase Jess would normally scold him for saying, grabbing up the receiver again and tapping in the extension.

…

Candy was draped across her chair more so than sitting on it as she waited for morning meeting to get going. With her eyes closed and her purple hair in her face, she tried to pretend she was still as asleep as she felt. She had spent much of the previous evening and then night working on her banners for the fair, and then trying to keep the artwork flat and out of the way of her parents until it dried. Sinking further into the chair she sighed. Sara was late, which was unlike her, but so were Maria and Marissa, which made her think traffic was probably bad in town. Yawning, she thought of the cake in the fridge; Annie McKenzie made the best sponge cake, and had drawn a butterfly atop the icing when Candy had asked. Having skipped breakfast, that cake was looking more and more attractive by the minute thought Candy. She grinned at the thought of singing to her friend, and flexed her ankles as she waited.

"Never seen the like," came Marissa's voice down the hall, as she and Maria hurried into the room. Mary raised an eyebrow at them.

"Main Street is shut where it crosses with Church Road," said Maria, opening her locker and tucking her bag inside. "There are police everywhere, turning people around and diverting them."

"Why?" asked Mary.

"An accident," continued Marissa as she put her lunch in the community fridge. "A red van hit a car and took out a huge chunk of the churchyard wall. The car was practically obliterated, wrapped around the light pole and all crunched up." Candy looked at the clock on the wall; fifteen minutes past the start of the day. She sat up slowly, turning to the latecomers.

"What kind of car was it?" she asked.

"It was too mashed up to tell," said Marissa. "But it was silver, and I saw the Toyota logo on the road. I hardly had a chance to look; they were turning everyone around."

As Marissa whined about her lack of viewing Candy felt cold dread in the pit of her stomach. Sara drove a silver Toyota Prius, and she was fifteen minutes late.

…

Doctor Imelda Lane arrived in the ER at the same time as Simon and Jillian were unloading their patient.

"Female, late thirties, breathing shallow but steady, pulse slowly dropping. Oxygen saturation falling, estimated three pints of blood loss. She's roughly early third trimester pregnancy, serious RTA, unconscious, hemorrhaging, and contracting. Not responding to our attempts to stop it, multiple compound fractures to the lower right leg, deep penetrating wound to the left shoulder, object still embedded." Jillian paused to breathe deeply as Simon took his turn talking; they helped transfer the woman to the hospital bed and stepped aside as Imelda pressed the ultrasound sensor to the woman's abdomen and Jessica checked her airway and starting to push units of replacement blood.

Linda cut away blood soaked clothing for easier IV and monitoring access while Missy concentrated on the shoulder, packing the wound to slow the bleeding until the doctor's had a chance to remove the glass. The heart monitor suddenly burst into a rising squeal of bleeps signaling tachycardia.

"Heart rate's gone up like a rocket," said Linda, eyes on the monitors.

"Blood pressure is falling," Missy called, voice tight.

"Contractions are slowing," said Jessica, biting her lip in concentration. "Hypovolemic shock is setting in." The ultrasound beeped and Imelda stared at the image.

"Surgery, now!" she barked, kicking off the brakes on the bed. "Uterine rupture; the baby has moments left, if that. Move, now!"

"Alec, get onto the OR," ordered Jessica, squeezing the bag and pushing blood through the IV by hand as they ran for the elevator. "Missy, we need more blood ten minutes ago; she's hemorrhaging internally as well." The doors slid open as they approached, Linda steering at the head of the bed, Jessica and Imelda on either side, applying pressure, forcing more blood and praying for the OR to be ready. Linda clutched equipment in a death grip as the three of them shot out through the doors and thundered down the hall.

Doctor Jacob Fielding stuck his head out of theatre three and waved them in; Linda handed over the monitors and their care to a theatre nurse as Imelda and Jessica took turns rattling off their information. Jacob nodded as one of his team came forward, holding a gown ready for Jacob to slide in to. By the time the three women were backing through the doors of the operating suite, iodine was dripping from the patient's abdomen, and Jacob was sliding his scalpel over her skin.

…

After half an hour Candy could take the tension no more. She walked into Mary's office trembling all over; the other woman looked up at her.

"Go," said Mary, her voice gentle, her eyes tense with worry. "Call me!" Candy nodded, and fled.

…

Jessica trudged back into the ER with Imelda and Linda; a tension headache beginning to worm its way up behind her eyes.

"Blood has gone down to the OR," Missy informed them.

"We know who she is," said Alec. Jillian held up the purse she had rescued from the foot well as they pulled the woman from the car.

"Her name is Sara Grissom," she read out, "Nevada license. Her birthdate is… damn, she's thirty-nine today."

"That sucks," groaned Simon and Alec in unison.

"Photo of the husband with a grasshopper in his hair- that's different- and one of the baby." She held up the matching sonogram picture. "Also, an alert card for a shellfish allergy." Simon scrolled through the phone.

"Her ICE is Gil Grissom," he said.

"He's upstairs in x-ray at the moment," replied Jessica. "He didn't have a phone on him, just his wallet." Linda picked it up and began to search more thoroughly. She pulled a card of emergency details from under the license.

"Sara Grissom," she told them. "There's nothing else here."

"So there's no one else to contact," sighed Imelda, tossing her gloves and raking her hands through her short red hair.

Jillian began to wipe down the stretcher with antibacterial cloths, readying it for the next patient. Simon checked their portable equipment with a sigh. He looked at the ER staff, and shook his head.

"You should have seen the car," he told them. "I've never seen anything like it. I honestly don't know how we got them out of their alive."

"The van took out a brick wall AFTER it hit them," added Jillian, spreading a fresh sheet over the gurney. As if on cue, the pneumatic doors hissed open and in rolled the third patient, sound asleep and cuffed to the bed. A police office trailed behind the two medics; all three professionals looked grim.

Imelda gagged as the overwhelming stench of human sweat mixed with sour alcohol pressed on the group from fifteen feet away. Rage pounded behind Jessica's eyes as her headache worsened. They all stepped back as Zoe took charge of the man. Their reports given, the two medics joined the others.

"What of the two in the car?" asked the woman, her eyes betraying the disgust she was trying to hide from her face. Seeing their stony faces, she sighed. "He was asleep in the roses; a few skin pricks from the thorns and a face full of airbag chalk."

The police officer stepped from behind the curtain, shifting his heavy belt to a more comfortable position at his waist.

"Vehicular manslaughter," he said, hands thrust into his pockets with resigned gloom. "The wall he hit crushed a pensioner putting flowers on his wife's grave." Jessica turned away, shutting her eyes for a moment, before she went to update her patient notes. Imelda caught up to her as the CT scan came up on the monitor.

"He's got a serious concussion," murmured Jess. Imelda stared at the screen, lips pursed in concentration.

"No bleeding though, he's lucky there. Have you got the x-rays yet?" Jessica moved the mouse and right clicked a few times. "Ouch," hissed Imelda. They stared at the shoulder.

"That's going to take some serious work," said Jessica, eyeing the shoulder images. Imelda gestured for the rest of the chest films as she pulled her glasses out of her pocket and peered closely at the screen.

"Pneumothorax," they simultaneously noted.

"Small, but we need a chest tube anyway," noted Imelda.

"Hopefully he won't need ventilating," replied Jessica, crossing her fingers for a moment. Alec came up behind them.

"They're sending him back down," he told the women. "Thistle can take him in an hour; she's wrapping up a knee replacement right now." A slight smile crossed Jessica's lips at this news. Andrea Thistle was a tiny woman with icy blue eyes and rage inspiring red hair. Her personality was as prickly as her name, but she was the best orthopedic surgeon in the state.

"Let's get him as stable as we possibly can then," she smiled.

…

Jacob Fielding and his team were grim with battle. Their sleeves, gowns and gloves were stained dark red. Empty bags of donated blood were thrust into an unceremonious pile, needles darted quickly with precision efforts to stop the bleeding and Jacob tried to outrun nature with medicine as the goal post inched ever farther away.

"Enough," he ordered the head of his surgical team. "We have no choice, she'll die otherwise. We can't stop the bleeding.

…

The team worked on Mr. Grissom with gentle care and renewed hope when he arrived back in the ER. Linda set to work on his scalp; cleaning and stitching the two gashes running through his hair. Jess rattled off orders to Alec and Missy as she listened to his chest; his breathing was still labored and shallow. She altered the flow of oxygen through his mask, hoping to raise his blood oxygen saturation. The x-rays had shown three fractures, and the huge bruises already spreading across his torso and side showed the impact from the air bag, as well as the side impact to the vehicle that had put pressure on his organs. Imelda concentrated on the chest tube, going through the armpit on his uninjured side. She smiled tightly with success and stitched it in place before checking the one-way valve and then cleaning and dressing the area. By the time Thistle was ready to take their patient for shoulder surgery, Jess and Imelda were satisfied that he was doing well. Another x-ray had confirmed the drain was correctly placed, his breathing had improved somewhat, and despite the blunt trauma to his organs, his systems were functioning relatively well.

"Good luck," murmured Jess under her breath as she watched the orderlies wheel him away.

…

Candy parked two streets over from Annie's Bakery and ran the rest of the way, dodging traffic, people and officials. She ducked under the arm of a gesticulating police officer and scrambled up the trellis on the side of the toy store next to the bakery. Scanning the crowd her gaze found the person she was looking for. She dropped to the ground and pulled her cell phone from her pocket; fingers flying as she tapped out a text message. Inching around a pair of squad cars, she sidled up to the tape, waiting. Detective Iris Peters walked over to her cousin, phone still in her hand.

"Hey Candy," she nodded. "What's wrong?"

"The second car," said the girl, tears in her eyes as her gaze fell of the crumpled ruins of the silver Toyota. "What happened to the passengers?"

Iris frowned in confusion.

"Please Iris," begged Candy, trying her best not to look at the scene. "Sara is my friend, I work with her." Iris stared at her cousin, thinking.

"The calculator lady? The one who helped you with math?"

"Yes," said Candy tears falling freely now. Iris sighed.

"They were taken to Lebanon," she told Candy, "both in critical condition." When Candy began to cry harder, Iris stepped closer and wrapped her up in a hug. "The van driver went there as well, but there's nothing wrong with him that a cup of strong coffee and time won't fix."

"He was drunk?" cried Candy, outraged. "And he just walked away?"

"He'll go down for a long time; you remember old man Thomas Casper?" When Candy nodded her recollection of the eighty-seven year old former police chief, Iris continued. "He was putting flowers on Eliza's grave when the van knocked the wall over; it crushed him instantly." Iris' voice was cold with fury at the death of the past head of her profession. She sized her cousin up. "Are you going to be ok? I have a job to do here." Candy nodded and sniffed. Iris produced a tissue from her pocket and another quick hug, before heading back over to the other officers.

After blowing her nose and wiping her eyes, Candy jogged back to her car. A quick call to Mary and couple of tearstained tissues later, she put the car in gear and headed for the Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center in Lebanon, trying to ignore the knowledge that it was the only Level One Trauma Center in the state.

…

Rachel Harrison had just finished her latest series of patient checks when a surgical nurse and an orderly came rushing into the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit pushing an incubator. The baby was tiny and still smeared with blood. Doctor Shawna Feather, a blue eyed blonde woman with the calmest and kindest of dispositions who had become a neonatal specialist after discovering she had been born without a womb, was with them, having been paged by Doctor Fielding fifteen minutes before.

It was only much later, after the baby was stabilized and settled in the incubator, connected to tubes, wires and monitors, and encased in just the right amount of heat and humidity, that Rachel had the chance to look at the card hastily shoved into the pocket at the end of the bed.

Name: Baby Girl Grissom

Date/Time: Sept. 16th 10:07am

Weight/Height: 3lbs 1oz, 14 ½ ins.

Mother: Sara Anne Grissom

...

...

I have no medical training beyond emergency first response and oxygen administration for diving injuries, so any mistakes are regrettable and wholly unintentional. Thanks for all the awesome reviews, please keep them coming. Your thoughts are so inspirational.


	30. Chapter 30

For the first time in her life Candy was glad to have a large family. All four of her grandparents had been lonely only children, which meant that her father had four older sisters and a younger brother, and her mother had three older brothers and two older sisters, the youngest of which was nine years older than Candy's mother. As a result of this burst of enthusiastic procreation, Candy and her brother had thirty-seven first cousins, which made holidays and birthdays thoroughly overwhelming and taxing affairs. Because Candy's parents had been relatively late starting their family, all but six of those cousins were older. Candy silently thanked her grandparents as she walked toward the waiting room outside the ground floor emergency department and took a seat.

Among her thirty-one older cousins were a Cordon Bleu chef, a novelist, two vets, three teachers, four members of a punk band, five marines and three doctors and two nurses. It was Lucy Peters that Candy sat waiting for now, a registered nurse and a member of the ICU team. Thinking of her cousin reminded Candy of Sara's animals; she would have to go over there later and check on them.

…

Andrea Thistle glared at her patient with irritation.

"I love a challenge sir, I do indeed, but this isn't a challenge, this is a mess." Andrea studied the x-rays again and then went back to the mangled shoulder. The breaks were awkward and badly placed, but that she could deal with. Her main concern lay in the muscle and nerve damage that needed to be dealt with. "Zachary," she barked, swinging to look at her primary assistant, an orthopedic intern. Months ago the young man had quailed under her frosty glare; but many weeks of practice had thickened his skin, to the point where he could now actually meet her gaze.

"Yes ma'am?" he asked.

"Don't just stand there boy," she snapped, "You wanted to learn, so start learning." She jabbed a finger at the digital images of the broken bones. "Tell me what you see."

…

Jacob Fielding heaved a sigh of relief as the last stitched was set in his patient's abdomen. They had finally stopped the hemorrhage, but there was still an awfully long way to go. He turned to Natasha, his head nurse.

"Let's get an update on the baby," he suggested, hoping it would be good news. The tension of the room was palpable; the fight thus far had been long and hard, fraught with bad turns and problems. Jacob rolled his shoulders and twisted his neck and back from side to side, wincing at the resounding crackle.

…

Lucy Peters sat down next to her cousin and handed her a soda.

"Do you know how to contact their family?" she asked. "I spoke to the ER staff, and their personal effects only listed each other." Candy shook her head, trying to force trembling fingers to open the can. Gently, Lucy took it from her and performed the task herself before returning it. Candy sipped gratefully, the cold fizzy liquid clearing her mind a little.

"Sara hasn't got any family, and Gil's mother is on a twelve week study tour with a class from a Vegas Deaf university; somewhere in the South Pacific I think. I wouldn't know how to contact her anyway, and she doesn't know Sara is pregnant."

"Candy, you're not family," said Lucy gently.

"I know," sighed the girl, fighting back tears. "But Sara would tell me anyway, and if they have to stay here, I'll look after their animals and their home." Lucy winced at the if in her cousin's statement.

"Candy, there's no if," she told her. "They're not going to wake up and walk out of here." Candy's face went dead white, her chest ached fiercely and her eyes burned with unshed tears. Lucy reached out and put hands on her shoulders.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, "I should have phrased that differently. They're not dead, but they're a long way from being well." Candy nodded bleakly.

"Can you tell me anything?" she asked, her voice dull. Lucy sighed.

"They're both in surgery right now; I don't know the specifics of their injuries, but I do know that they are severe." Candy wiped her eyes on her sleeve, trying to hold onto any remaining positive feelings she could.

Shoes squeaked on the floor as the door opened and a head peered in.

"Excuse me," said a familiar voice, "I'm looking for the… Candy?" The girl looked up at her boss; Mary walked into the room properly, a file under her arm.

"Mary Goodwin," she said, offering her hand to Lucy. "Sara Grissom is my employee, and according to her file here, has made me her secondary emergency contact should her husband be unreachable." Candy stared at her; Mary winked and turned back to Lucy. "So, what can you tell us?"

…

Candy still stared as Mary settled next to her on the lumpy couch. Lucy had left to get a doctor to speak to them.

"About half an hour ago, it occurred to me that they probably wouldn't talk to you, and that Sara added me to her file because Gil occasionally takes students out on field trips. She told me he was worried he wouldn't get her call or a message if something happened."

"That sounds like Griss," smiled Candy, some of her gloom lifting. She had picked up on Gil's nickname from the side of a teasing phone call she had overheard. Sara had regaled her of Gruesome Grissom tales when asked, until the teenager was thoroughly green with horror.

"I was hoping, because I have three cousins that work here, and an aunt, that someone would find out something for me."

"I thought your cousins are in a band," commented Mary, leaning back into the corner of the couch so she could see Candy. She wanted to keep the girl talking and distracted as much as possible. Candy was a bit of a loner; she didn't have that many friends, and she tended to express herself through her art, and her love of animals, thus leaving a lot of time and tendency for introspection and internalization.

"That's Celeste, Joseph, Mark and James. Katie is a pediatric specialist here, and Henry is … um…" Candy searched her memory, thinking. "Oh, he's a thoracic surgeon. Katie's oldest brother, Edmund, is a doctor in the army, but I can't remember what he does. And Mary Jane is a nurse too, but she lives in Florida. She married a hippie surfer; it caused a major family upset! Her parents said she was throwing her life away for a lay about. I think she was a genius for getting away from them all."

"That's a lot of medicine in your family," remarked Mary, absently checking her phone. Candy rolled her eyes and played with a strand of hair.

"My aunt Theodora is a nurse on the OB/GYN ward, Misty and Rose are both vets, and Isabel is in her second year of vet school. Oh, and Conner wants to be a pathologist."

"Theodora?" asked Mary, searching for a topic to keep the girl going? "Isn't she the one that likes to take you shopping?" The entire rescue center knew about Theodora, thanks to an explosion of feelings on Candy's part, post an insistent phone call from her mother prior to one such trip.

"The very same," muttered Candy. "She has five sons, and they're all Marines. I once tried on a camouflage dress when she dragged me to the mall to see what she would say." Candy shook her head in amusement. "She actually sent her kids to charm school, to make sure they grew up to be perfect gentlemen. I think that's why they all enlisted after graduation; telling her all about boot camp in explicit gory detail was their method of payback."

Mary kept Candy talking about her lunatic family until Lucy returned with a tall, slender blonde doctor. He had dark blue eyes that held a great depth of compassion and composure.

"Hello," he said in soft, deep tones. "I'm Doctor Jacob Fielding." He gently shook hands with each of them. "I understand you're here about Mr. and Mrs. Grissom."

"Doctor and Doctor," said Candy absently as she tried to keep her mind from lurching through the dreadful scenarios it was conjuring.

"I'm sorry?" asked Jacob, confused. Candy looked up at him, blinking. As he sat opposite them she fumbled for the words she was looking for.

"Um… Griss- ah Gil, has a PhD in entomology. Sara has hers in forensic psychology. Dr. and Dr. Grissom, not Mr. and Mrs.," she finished. Jacob nodded, and smiled softly at her.

"Thank you, I'll remember," he promised.

"What's happening? Are they ok? Please tell me they are," begged Candy suddenly, abruptly losing her grip on herself control and feeling hot tears of fear and distress scald their way freely down her cheeks. Mary placed a comforting arm around the girl and pulled in a deep, calming breath.

"I don't know anything about Gil Grissom unfortunately, but I operated on Sara Grissom. I'm a trauma specialist and Sara came to me in critical condition and early in the third trimester of her pregnancy."

"She's thirty-one weeks today," sniffed Candy.

"Thank you for that," nodded Jacob, scribbling a note on the file resting on his lap. "She had a uterine rupture and severe hemorrhaging. I had no choice but to deliver the baby and perform an emergency hysterectomy to stop her from bleeding to death."

Mary unknowingly clenched her hand on Candy's shoulder as she felt her throat tighten.

"The baby?" she whispered.

"She went straight to neonatal intensive care; I had an update from Doctor Feather about half an hour ago to say that her condition is serious and somewhat unstable at present."

"She has Sara's birthday," murmured Candy, looking at Mary, who nodded slowly.

"What else can you tell us about Sara?" she asked Jacob. He sighed, and fiddled with his pen.

"Have you ever heard of damage control surgery?" he asked them. When they shook their heads he continued. "Sara has sustained several serious injuries, but because of the severe hemorrhaging from the uterine rupture and damage to her spleen, she is hypothermic and her blood isn't clotting properly. Right now, her body is in such a state of shock that it needs time to recover before we help her any more. So what my team and I did was stop the bleeding and then transfer her to intensive care. In a day or two, when her body has had time to recover somewhat and maintain homeostasis, she'll go back into surgery to deal with her other injuries. At the moment, she is being ventilated and kept warm while her blood pressure stabilizes and her ph. levels even out."

"She's not awake?" Candy's voice was raw, as though she'd spent hours screaming at someone or something. Jacob shook his head.

"She was unconscious when paramedics arrived at the scene and she arrested twice on the operating table. At the moment we are keeping her in an induced coma. It sounds harsh, but right now it's in her best interests to keep her calm, quiet and pain free. The sooner she is stable, the sooner we will be able to get her properly patched up and into injury specific care."

"What can you tell us about her other injuries?" asked Mary, running a shaky hand through her hair.

"She has multiple fractures to the right leg below the knee, the foot and the ankle. Right now, the leg is braced and splinted and protected from infection, but extensive surgery will be required. Our orthopedic team will talk to you at some point, and explain their methods to you."

Forgotten until now, Lucy stepped away from her perch on the corner coffee table.

"I don't know the reasons why, but Gil Grissom is in theatre right now with Thistle."

"He's in great hands then," said Jacob; turning back to Mary and Candy, he explained, "Andrea Thistle is a pioneer in her field. She's the best orthopedic surgeon in New England."

"Is there any way to find out about Gil's injuries?" asked Mary, trying to keep her concern in check.

"I'm sure Thistle will talk to you after she's finished," said Jacob. Lucy frowned, thinking.

"I'll go and see if the ER docs are still here. It's past shift change, but someone may still be here to talk you through it." As Candy thanked her, Lucy nodded and turned, walking out of the room.

"Is there anything else about Sara?" asked Candy hesitantly.

"She has a skull fracture from her head hitting the window; the area where she hit her head has glass fragments embedded in the skin, but those wounds are superficial. As of right now though, other than a bad concussion, there are no other complications relating to her head or brain. There may be some side effects from her arresting twice in theatre, but we maintained a good airway at all times and got her heart going again quickly both times as well. On that score, I am very optimistic," he assured them.

"So now we wait?" Candy's eyes were blurry with tears.

"We wait," agreed Jacob, "stabilization is the key at this point; I would say that providing no other issues arise and that there is no swelling or bleeding associated with the skull fracture, she'll probably be ready for orthopedics tomorrow afternoon or evening. I checked on her before I came down here, and she's registering improvement already."

"That's good," said Mary firmly, squeezing Candy's hand.

"It is," the doctor smiled at them both; "optimism is a great thing."

After a few more questions and a hefty dose of more reassurance, Jacob left them to get back to his patients. Candy and Mary sat quietly, taking in the news. They were startled from their respective worries and fleeting hopes when Lucy reappeared with two women in hospital scrubs.

Both Imelda Lane and Jessica Norse had been about to leave when Lucy arrived in the staff lounge, but when she'd asked if one of them would talk to the contacts for the husband and wife they had treated, they had simply put down their coats and asked her to lead the way.

Introductions were made and then Imelda went through Grissom's condition with them.

"He has three rib fractures, and a small pneumothorax, which is a pocket of air inside the chest cavity," Imelda watched their faces as she spoke, searching for understanding. When they nodded, she continued. "I inserted a drain and his breathing in now much better; he is much more stable than when he arrived."

"Is that it?" asked Candy, thinking hopefully that Gil appeared to come out of this much better than his wife.

"No," it was Jessica's turn to speak. "He has a serious concussion and abdominal bruising that we are monitoring because there is concern that the organs there may have sustained some trauma. At the moment, he's doing well and we're optimistic."

"Can we see him?" asked Mary, shifting uncomfortably in her seat.

"No," replied Imelda. "He's in surgery right now, which I expect will take quite some time. The impact of the crash was first on the driver's side. Gil's arm took a serious blow; his shoulder has multiple fractures, as does the lower arm, including the wrist. Right now he's with Doctor Thistle, an orthopedic surgeon. She'll be able to tell you more about the injury after she's finished."

"What about recovery?" asked Candy, wanting some concrete answers. Imelda pursed her lips, thinking.

"His arm will require physiotherapy after healing, but to what extent I can't tell you. Thistle will give you a much clearer picture of what to expect later on. The ribs should heal fine, until then he'll have some chest pain and be limited in his movements."

"The possible organ bruising is a serious concern, but right now he's not showing any signs of problems," continued Jess. "A concussion is always serious, and I would expect he will have some lingering headaches for a while after it heals. It's possible there will be side effects from it also, but until he wakes, we won't know anything. The other concern is the chest drain; an infection would be disastrous, but so far so good."

"I would like to stress that he's doing very well," Imelda put in, wanting to ease their stricken expressions. "His injuries are serious, but he's stable, he's in with the best bone doc in the region, and so far all is going well."

Mary heaved a deep breath and nodded, shaking tension from her shoulders. Candy leaned forward and put her head in her hands, pressing her face into her legs. She counted to ten, breathing slowly and calmly before she sat up again.

"Is there anything we can do?" she asked, looking for something to do, anything to make herself feel useful. Jess smiled sympathetically.

"My advice would be to go home and make any arrangements you need to, and get some rest," she told them. "I know it sounds wrong, but Gil will be in surgery for a while. I spoke to Doctor Fielding earlier, and Sara isn't up to visitors either. We'll definitely keep you informed if anything changes, but right now, staying rested and productive while you wait is the best thing to do."

"What about the baby?" Tears welled up in Candy's eyes yet again as she thought of Sara's little girl. Imelda brushed a hand through her already disheveled hair and rubbed her eyes tiredly.

"I called up to the NICU a little while ago and spoke to Doctor Feather. She's treating Baby Girl Grissom, and she told me that they're still working on stabilizing her."

The two doctors remained for a few more minutes, and then left, leaving Mary and Candy to give administration staff their contact details.

"What are you going to do now?" asked Mary.

"Get Sammie and go over to their house, check on the animals and all that," sighed Candy, fishing her keys out of her pocket and fighting back tears. Her eyes were red raw, and felt as though someone was grinding sand into the tender skin and irises. All she wanted right now was a cuddle with her dog in the hope that she would wake up to find this had all been a nightmare.

...

...

I'm so sorry about the wait to get this posted; I've just started back for my final year of university, and I've had the most excruciating case of writer's block right in the middle of the technical stuff for this chapter. Every time I sat down to write I'd be lucky to get a sentence out, but the dam seems to have burst tonight. Ahh... it feels so good; Ethereal will be up soon, I'm making a few improvements to a very exciting chapter. Happy reading and writing, please R&R, pretty please...


	31. Chapter 31

Fireworks were exploding inside his skull. That was the only possible explanation for the flares of agony battering his mind. They were tempered only mildly by the red hot poker that was lodged in his arm. He let out a gasping groan; a sound that rattled in his throat and emerged only as a feeble and unrecognizable tone. There was a rustle of cloth nearby; a voice murmured sounds that held no meaning to his pain addled senses, and then came light pressure before a cool feeling wiped away the torment and pushed him back into the dream world.

…

Candy opened her eyes, momentarily confused by her surroundings, before a rush of unpleasant thoughts came tumbling back to her. Rather than go home the night before, she had simply crawled into the guest bed at Sara's. She was surrounded by animals; Sammie, Hank, Lucy, Romeo and Juliet were all tangled around her. Socks was curled on the chair across the room, watching her with lost, accusing eyes. Candy sighed and sat up slowly, burying her fingers in Sammie's soft fur. Her phone beeped and she glanced down at it; it was just her alarm clock, not the hospital. She and Mary were going to talk to Doctor Thistle later, but for now the silence meant there was no additional cause for worry.

…

The intensive care ward was quiet and still. Machines hummed and emitted low beeps, nurses bustled about checking, rechecking, administering aid and offering soothing care to those aware enough to need it, but despite the activity, it was still a tranquil setting. The occasional emergency brought with it a flurry of activity and sound, but generally voices were muted and actions gentle. In room three-eleven the patient was cocooned in a sterile environment; the light was dimmed, the room warmer than usual and the woman slept deeply, rendered unconscious by medicine to help her heal.

Sheila Watkins, a nurse of many years, gently sponged away blood and grime from the accident that had brought her this particular patient. Her delicate touch uncovered beautiful pale skin under the messy evidence of the woman's trauma. As she worked Sheila murmured compliments and news to the woman, her soft musical voice a pretty contrast to the hissing of the ventilator.

Reaching the left hand, Sheila pulled away the tape that had been wrapped over the wedding ring on her guest's third finger; with it came the ring. Sheila sponged the golden band clean and went to return it to its rightful resting place when she noticed something on the inside. Holding it close to her face she was able to make out the tiny letters engraved there: Ex Animo.

"Latin, my dear?" she asked, "I wonder what it means." Her patient carried on sleeping.

…

Stretching her legs out in front of her with a happy sigh, Sara leaned back against the trunk of the rowan tree she was sitting against and closed her eyes for a moment, enjoying the sounds of nature. She and Grissom were hiking along a trail in the Lands End Park of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area and had stopped their explorations for a picnic lunch. Gil divided up the sandwiches while Sara unearthed bottled water and granola bars from the backpack.

It had been a year, Sara thought. A year since she had cracked and Gil had stepped into her life fully, helping glue the broken edges back together. A year since Adam Trent, and the actions that had really cemented the two of them into one. Sara's thoughts meandered over the last year; easily the happiest of her life so far. She smiled softly as Gil settled back against the tree, kissed her temple tenderly, and handed her a PB and J.

They had orchestrated four days away together in San Francisco by accepting separate proposals to speak on their specialist subjects at a multidisciplinary science convention, after which Sara had waited until assignments to ask permission, in front of their coworkers and the Assistant Lab Director, whose coffee mug just happened to be empty, for the time off to attend. Gil had acted surprised, and stated it may not be possible, as he had also been asked to lecture. Ecklie had rolled his eyes, and stated that in the interest of the reputation of the lab and the positive reflections their work had on public image, he would find someone to cover for them both. They had nearly laughed themselves silly over his speech when they returned home in the morning.

Sara was so lost in her thoughts that she didn't notice at first how quiet her companion was keeping. Glancing over at him, she saw a faraway, unseeing expression on his face. His sandwich lay in his lap, untouched but for one bite, and he absently drew in the dirt between them with the tip of his index finger.

"Ex Animo," she read aloud, her gaze on his drawings. He started, and looked up at her. "It's Latin," she continued, her head cocked slightly to the side as she studied him. "It means, 'from the heart.'"

He cleared his throat softly, unsure of how to proceed.

"Yes," he replied, a slow smile on his lips as he looked at her and the lovely picture she presented, her hair windblown, her eyes sparkling with the pleasure of being outside among nature, and a tiny blob of escaped jam at the corner of her mouth. He leaned in to kiss it away, and stayed for much longer than he had intended. When he drew back she stared at him, eyes hazy with love.

"So why are you doodling Latin in the ground Gilbert?" she asked a few minutes later when he'd said nothing. He sighed and put down his sandwich.

"I'm not good with feelings," he admitted slowly, "at least, not talking about them. But I've been trying to figure out how to tell you something."

"Something from the heart?" she asked, slightly bemused. He nodded and sipped some water. "Why don't you just tell me? Do you need to think about it? Or do you know what it is?"

"Oh I know," he said with conviction, "I'm just not good with the words."

"Whatever you say Shakespeare," she replied, reaching for another bite of her lunch.

"I love you," he blurted out suddenly. Sara turned to stare at him, lowering her sandwich slowly back to her knees. "I love you," he said again, much more calmly. "I do, and I wish I had told you before; I should have, but the words wouldn't come out right. I love you, from my heart and soul and every fiber of my being. For eternity and beyond."

…

Candy and Mary were waiting to see Gil's surgeon when a nurse stuck her head into the waiting they had been directed to.

"Mrs. Goodwin? Miss Peters?" she asked, looking over at them. They stood and walked over to her. "Doctor Thistle has been called in on an emergency case, so I'm afraid she's unable to speak with you at this time. I have got some good news for you though; Gil Grissom was awake earlier, very briefly. He can have visitors, though I would recommend one at a time." Mary turned to Candy,

"Why don't you sit with him? I could do with getting some paperwork done." Candy looked guiltily up at her. Mary smiled and put a hand on her shoulder, "It's fine, I'd rather you were here with them than at your desk; besides, Sara's systems have made it really easy for anyone to step in and take over the basics. You keep your concentration here and call me if anything happens. I'll be back later." A swift farewell and she was gone. The nurse took Candy in to sit with Gil.

"He's doing real well," she said softly in a broad accent. "His vitals have been stable since around midnight, and he'll probably be getting that chest tube out this evening. He woke up once, but he didn't say anything, or know where he was. That's normal though, waking up after a head trauma can be a long process."

Candy sat quietly next to Gil, her eyes lingering over the damage. He was cocooned in light blue hospital blankets and white bandages. Two strips of white padding covered the gashes on his head, bright blue and purple bruises were emerging on his face and neck with vibrant intensity and the tubes of a nasal cannula were hooked behind his ears, feeding oxygen into his nostrils. Heavy bandaging encased his left arm all the way up under his hospital gown, peeking out of the neckline.

His mouth was open and he was drooling slightly; smirking slightly to herself, Candy picked up a tissue from the bedside counter and wiped his cheek for him. Gil stirred, taking a deeper breath and letting out a muffled sound. His eyes flickered open and Candy leaned in to catch his gaze.

"Hey Griss," she greeted him; he stared back, his eyes hazy and slightly unfocused. "How are you feeling?" she asked softly, pressing a small button into his hand how the nurse had explained. "I bet you have a serious headache, well if you press this it'll get you nice and high on morphine. She curled his fingers around the plastic, nodding and smiling at him when he squeezed, though he seemed to be in too much pain to recognize her. Moments later his eyes were closing and he was asleep again. With a sigh, Candy slipped back into her chair.

A pattern began to emerge; every half hour or so Gil would wake up, confused and unaware, and Candy would help him with the morphine diffuser, sending him straight back to sleep again. Around three in the afternoon Doctor Fielding walked in.

"Hi Candy," he greeted her as he glanced at Gil and scanned the machinery. "Gil here seems to be doing well," he acknowledged.

"He's a little more coherent than he was this morning, but he's still really out of it."

"That's normal, it'll take him a while to really come round; he got a nasty blow to the head."

"Are you here about Sara?" asked Candy, desperate for information.

"She's stabilizing well," said Jacob with a smile. "I think she'll be ready for surgery tomorrow morning, maybe this evening. She's breathing well, her body temperature is back up and her blood chemistry is settling down. Her blood pressure is still not where it should be, but it has improved. Some really good news is that the stitches are holding, and she hasn't developed any other bleeding."

Candy nodded bleakly, having ingested far too much medical education in the last day and a half to feel great enthusiasm until all three of her friends were firmly out of the woods. Jacob left, and Gil woke again, muttering to himself. Candy caught a few odd words, "clouds… pocket watch… caterpillar… magma… spitfire… parabolic hyperbole… Hippocrates… fire ants… donkey," and sank back into her chair when he helped himself unconsciously to some more pain relief. Pulling out her sketchbook she let her thoughts go and her pencil roam.

…

It was late afternoon when Mary arrived, standing in the doorway for a moment, struck with how grim Gil looked with all the bruises and bandaging.

"Anything new?" she asked, swallowing back her shock and making her way to Candy's side.

"He's waking for longer each time, but still not making any sense," replied the girl. "I've heard nothing about the baby, but Sara is improving steadily." Gil groaned and moved his right hand in irritation. Without opening his eyes he began to mumble.

"I felt a funeral in my brain,

And mourners, to and fro,

Kept treading, treading, till it seemed

That sense was breaking through.

And when they all were seated,

A service like a drum

Kept beating, beating, till I thought

My mind was going numb."

"Ok," said Candy, an eyebrow raised. "Well, that's the most he's said yet, but it didn't make any sense to me." Mary laughed.

"It's a poem, by Emily Dickinson. It's about a migraine; he has a headache!"

"I'm not surprised," said Nurse Joan, walking in on her rounds. She ran through her tests and checks as Gil slipped back into slumber. "He's fine, he'll start waking up properly soon." She examined his broken arm, checking his circulation, then smiled at them and left.

"Why don't you go for a walk?" asked Mary, "I'll stay here for a bit." Candy agreed, and set out for the NICU, walking briskly to stretch her legs. Upstairs, she found the baby care ward with ease, and approached apprehensively. Standing at a door she stared through a glass pane into a room of incubators and nurses in brightly decorated hospital scrubs.

"Can I help you?" asked a voice from behind. Candy turned; it was the doctor from yesterday, the one that worked in the emergency room. Jessica saw the girl's face and smiled softly. "Hello again, you were here yesterday weren't you? For the pregnant woman and her husband in the car accident! It's Candy, isn't it?"

"It is, and thank you again for everything you've done for Sara and Griss," replied Candy.

"What are you doing up here?" asked Jessica.

"My boss is listed as Sara's secondary emergency contact, and because she's incredibly busy, she asked that I be kept informed as well. But we don't know anything about the baby," sighed Candy, frustrated. Jessica frowned slightly, thinking.

"Let me see if there's someone inside who can talk to you," she said thoughtfully, "I don't know what the rules are in this situation, but I'll give it a go. Wait here for me, I won't be long."

Jess vanished through the doors, and Candy leaned back against the wall with a sigh, crossing and uncrossing her fingers for luck. She was just dozing on her feet thanks to a mostly sleepless night, when Jessica reappeared with a nurse.

"I'm Rachel Harrison, a neonatal nurse."

"Candy Peters," sighed the girl, "I'm Sara and Gil's friend and I'm the appointed go-between for my boss, who is Sara's secondary emergency contact."

"I've met Sara," admitted Rachel with a smile. "A few weeks ago at the Dean's party; it was my soon-to-be-ex-husband's fault she ended the evening in the ER." Candy gaped at her momentarily. "I'm sorry she's back here, and Gil too; I had such a nice time chatting with them."

"What can you tell us about the baby?" asked Jessica, seeing Candy was struggling to get her thoughts in order. Rachel sighed.

"Not much I'm afraid. Mrs. Goodwin is only an emergency contact for Doctor Sara Grissom, she does not have any authority over medical decisions, and at this time we do not have parental consent to release information about the minor child. I'm sorry, I know it's not what you wanted to hear, but until we get permission from Gil or Sara there is nothing I can tell you beyond the fact that she's been stabilized."

There was regret and understanding in Rachel's face, but also the professional adherence to patient confidentiality laws. Candy thanked her anyway, and trudged back down to Gil's room, her mood black. Couldn't she just get a single break in the grim situation? Some good news? Anything positive? She slumped back in her chair and read the note scrawled in Mary's haphazard calligraphy.

Candy- sorry to run out on you, Joey's principal called me to fetch him from science club; something to do with blowing out a crater on the athletics field. Call me if anything changes, Mary.

Gil stirred, and Candy turned to face him, bracing herself for another episode of mumbled nonsense. Instead she looked into blue eyes that were clear, aware and pained. She slid to her knees so her face was level with his and spoke softly, mindful of his headache.

"Hey Griss!" His eyes darted around the room, taking in everything in his field of vision. His mouth worked for a moment, before he managed to produce speech.

"Where's Sara?" he finally croaked.

"She's here," Candy assured him soothingly, not wanting to go into the details of what here actually meant.

"It's her birthday," sighed Gil, his face shadowed with disappointment. His eyes slid shut and he slipped into a natural slumber, unaided by the painkillers for the first time since regaining consciousness. Candy sat back to wait again, lips pursed as she considered the frown that was still nestled among his eyebrows as he slept.


	32. Chapter 32

At nine am the following morning Candy was slouched in her chair next to Gil's bed, having been kept awake for a second night running by nightmares and a pining Socks. She had arrived half an hour ago to learn Sara had been taken down to surgery at eight o'clock, and Gil had slept through the night with no complications.

She closed her eyes and shifted uncomfortably; idly wondering if the hospital was trying to drum up business by providing visitors with chairs that were so uncomfortable they were liable to cause permanent damage. Unable to doze off, she let her mind wander freely as she tried to relax until movement made her stir.

"What time is it?" groaned Gil as he shifted slightly in the bed, his eyes firmly screwed shut.

"A little after nine," yawned Candy, sliding upright as a spark of hope rolled through her veins.

"I'm not going to work today," Gil mumbled thickly. "I think I've been used as the ball in an elephant soccer match." A small smile twitched across her lips at his phrasing.

"You don't have work today," she promised him, moving to stand by the bed. "It's still summer vacation, but you're not at home Griss, you're at Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center."

His eyes inched open slowly, protesting fiercely at the assault of the needling stabs of morning light on his senses.

"Candy?" he asked, confused. She nodded soothingly. "What day is it?" he frowned, trying to compute the evidence around him but struggling with pain, fatigue and confusion.

"Sunday morning" replied Candy softly. "You've been here since Friday." He was quiet for a few moments thinking.

"Sara's birthday," he said finally, a faraway look in his eyes. Candy nodded in agreement as his gaze moved over to her. "What happened?" he asked, gasping in pain as he tried to move and abruptly changed his mind. Candy waited for him to settle again, trying not to look at the expression of twisted apprehension and fear on his face.

"You were hit by a drunk driver on the way to Animal Ark," she said, truthfully, forcing herself to look him in the eye.

"Sara," he gasped, his hand clenching in the blankets despite the intense cramping of his muscles at the movement.

"She's here," soothed Candy, resting her hand gently over his. "She's improving too."

"Where?" he twisted his neck, ignoring the increased banging in his skull as he looked around frantically.

"She's in surgery at the moment." When he twisted his gaze back to her with such rapidity she feared he would do himself more damage, she held up a free hand in a gesture for him to relax. "It's ok," she assured him gently. "She's stable, but her leg has a complex break so she's with an orthopedic surgeon right now. Doctor Andrea Thistle, the same woman who fixed you up. She will come and talk with us when she's finished helping Sara, ok?" she fixed her gaze firmly on his and held it there. He blinked a few times as he struggled to reign in his floundering senses; his mind racing painfully as he tried to grip his fear and get his pounding head to organize the sudden information overload. Watching him try and relax it occurred to Candy that he was probably in need more pain medication. Mentally berating herself for not doing it earlier, she pressed the call button for a nurse.

"What can you tell me about my wife?" demanded Gil, as soon as Nurse Joan walked in. He seemed to have recovered a little strength and coordination, and was unsuccessfully trying to push himself into a sitting position. Soothingly, Candy and Joan moved him carefully until he was partially sitting. Joan offered him some water but he glared at her and refused to take a sip until she started speaking.

"Very little I'm afraid," she told him. "I haven't treated her, or seen her notes but Doctor Fielding asked me to page him when you woke up so he can come up and talk to you." Gil stared pointedly at her, ignoring the straw she was waving under his nose. Suppressing a smile, Candy winked and the nurse and took the cup from her hands, supporting it while Gil sipped slowly. Joan walked out, scribbling notations on his chart as she went.

Gil groaned and leaned back into his pillows, resting his head.

"I don't remember anything," he said to Candy, his voice having taken on more of its normal tones with the cleansing sips of water. "I made breakfast for Sara, and then nothing." Candy sighed and put the cup down on the table beside the bed. She sank carefully onto the mattress edge and linked her fingers in her lap.

"It was the corner of Main Street and Church Road. Eyewitnesses said you moved when the light changed green and a red van approached at speed. It hit the driver's side of Sara's car, spun it around and impacted the passenger front corner. The van hit the church yard wall and knocked down a huge chunk, crushing an elderly man on the other side. Your car wrapped around a lamp pole." Candy watched the little color in his face drain from his features as she spoke.

"Which side?"

"Sara's side."

"The driver?"

"He's fine. He got out of the van and went to sleep in the roses."

"Does Sara know?" he asked, his voice and eyes full of disgust.

"No," Candy hesitated, not sure she wanted to tell him anymore until there was a doctor to give him all the facts. She knew Gil well enough now to know that he would question everything to the nth degree, just like his wife. It was the expression in his eyes that made her give in. "She's in an induced coma," she admitted. The alarm and terror that swamped him was palpable, pressing on Candy and making her feel sick.

"She lost too much blood," she said, struggling to find the right place to begin and the way to tell it. She was saved by the arrival of Doctor Fielding.

"I was on my way back downstairs and wanted to check in on you," he explained to Gil, after introducing himself.

"Thank you," replied Gil, "what can you tell me about my wife?"

"She was rushed into my trauma room almost as soon as she arrived. She was hemorrhaging severely and contracting." Candy thought Gil was going to be sick as realization that the baby would have been affected dawned on him. In his hazy state, it hadn't occurred to him that their little girl could be harmed. He heaved a wheezy breath and Joan reached to resettle his nasal cannula, altering the oxygen flow and then administering another dose of pain medication to help him relax a little.

"Baby," he gasped.

"I delivered your daughter and she was transferred to the neonatal intensive care unit immediately. She is now stable, but there are issues that the attending specialist will talk to you about soon." Gil lifted his good hand shakily to his face, pressing his palm over his eyes in an effort to hold himself together. Jacob continued,

"Sara had a uterine rupture that could not be repaired; I had no choice but to remove the uterus. I'm sorry," he apologized, his eyes showing his regret that he had needed to resort to such drastic measures. "We tried, but she had internal bleeding from the spleen as well and she arrested twice." Gil forced himself to pull in a breath that sat in his lungs like lead; he nodded his understanding at the doctor and gripped the blankets to try and maintain his compose and sense of reality.

"The hysterectomy and spleen repairs were successful," said Jacob, his tone encouraging. "Because of the blood loss, and the shock to her system it was really too dangerous to fix her other injuries then, so we put her in an induced coma to let her body rest while her blood pressure, ph. levels and body temperature leveled out again. She responded well, and so Doctor Thistle took her down for surgery on her broken leg earlier this morning. She'll come and speak to you later, not just about your wife, but about your injuries as well."

"What else can you tell me?" asked Gil. Jacob sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

"Sara has a linear skull fracture and a serious concussion, not unlike yourself. We've been monitoring her for any sign of bleeding in the brain, but there has been nothing so far, and I expect the fracture to heal fully. She also has a penetrating wound to the left shoulder caused by a large shard of glass; there may be some initial impairment as the tissues heal, but physiotherapy will fix that. My concerns at the moment are the reconstruction of her leg, which, as I said, Doctor Thistle will guide you through, and recovery from the combination of blood loss, internal damage, hypothermia, and hysterectomy. I won't lie to you Doctor Grissom, her condition is serious, but so far she has been doing as well as can be expected."

Gil asked a few question, clarifying points, and obtaining treatment details. As they talked, Jacob walked him through the standard post head trauma checks and went over his injuries, satisfying himself that Gil was healing as he should be, despite the fact that Gil was no longer directly under his care.

"Your lungs have improved," he told his patient, "But you'll have difficulty breathing for some time while your ribs heal."

"I want to see my daughter," said Gil, his voice raw and his lungs sore with the effort of so much talking.

"You need to rest," said Joan firmly, tucking in his blankets securely. Candy winced at her tone, and looked at Jacob as Joan launched into a lecture on recovery. The doctor winked slightly at her, and backed out of the room quietly. Candy spent a tense five minutes trying to mediate between the adamant nurse and the increasingly irate patient. When Jacob reappeared five minutes later with Doctor Ian MacAndrew, the teenager unconsciously let a breath of relief whistle softly out of her lips.

Doctor MacAndrew gave Gil a thorough check over and battery of tests in the presence of the crotchety Joan, before declaring that, under the circumstances, a short trip to the NICU was not out of the question, and would Joan please be kind enough to assist in getting Mr. Grissom ready to go. The woman pursed her lips tightly and glared at the blankets, but with the help of another nurse, gently bound Gil's arm in a sling to stop it from moving, cocooned him in blankets and transferred him to a wheelchair with a high back to help support his head, neck and torso in order to avoid aggravating the broken ribs and concussion associated whiplash. With the IV's disconnected temporarily and the safety belt fastened snugly over his hips Joan reluctantly wheeled him out of the room, Candy trailing behind with a grateful look to the two doctors.

If the Intensive Care ward was quiet, then the NICU was eerily so; machines still hummed and beeped, and the pneumatic hiss of air still escaped into the atmosphere around them, but the sounds of the patients was far less. Every so often a baby would cry softly, but the sound didn't linger long after an attentive nurse or doctor soothed away the pain. The stillness unnerved Candy, and she followed Joan closely as she looked around with a mixture of awe, dread and horror.

Baby Girl Grissom was at the far end of the room; when Joan parked the wheelchair next to the incubator and set the brake, Gil felt his heartbeat increase rapidly in shock and was fleetingly grateful he wasn't hooked up to the monitor for Joan to see. Even in the small box designed to help her, his daughter looked terribly small. Small, but perfectly formed. He could see tiny eyelashes resting against her cheeks as she slumbered, and fingernails so miniscule he had to squint to make them out clearly.

A purple beanie hat kept her head warm as she lay flat and limp on her back. IV's ran into her arms, and a tube fed into her nose while another snaked down her throat. Wires in every color imaginable flowed over her body like a living spider web, monitoring her every function and output. Gil pressed his lips tightly together in an effort to reign in his emotions. A woman in a white medical coat came to stand next to him.

"Gil Grissom?" she asked softly. He nodded, still not quite able to summon words to his lips. He had been expecting the worst, but this somehow didn't even come close. His child looked like she was made of wafer thin spun sugar, and would crack under the faintest puff of air. "My name is Shawna, Doctor Shawna Feather and I'm a neonatal specialist. I've been treating your daughter since she was born." He nodded, his eyes still glued to the tiny life before him; watching intently as the ventilator made her chest move up and down with the movement of oxygen in and out of her lungs. She was so tiny his wedding ring would have slipped over her fist to act as a bracelet. His eyes were drawn to a tag secured around her ankle; Sara's name was printed there, along with dates, times and other information. He realized Sara would have a similar symbol attached to her wrist, marking her as a mother and connecting her to the right baby.

The right baby; his heart clenched as he stared at this tiny, perfect creation. He loved her so much, had wanted her for so long, but not now, not like this. She should still be wrapped safely inside her mother's belly, waiting for her body to strengthen enough to take on the world. Abruptly he was angry; angrier than he ever had been in his life before. His little girl was lying here in front of him in box instead of his or her mother's arms because of a single idiotic decision. He didn't even realize he was crying until Shawna knelt beside him and pressed a tissue into his fingers.

"She's doing alright so far," she said quietly, resting a hand on his knee. She pointed to the monitors on the side of the incubator. "Her brain functioning is good; you can see here on the screen. It's better than most preemies at this gestation." Shawna paused and looked carefully into his face, searching for understanding and overwhelming anguish. Finding only deep sadness and not sensory or emotional overload that would put him at risk in his own recovery she decided to press on.

"She has what's called Infant Respiratory Distress Syndrome because her lungs aren't fully developed yet, which means she can't breathe by herself yet. We see it quiet commonly in premature babies, and while it is very serious, it's something we have a great deal of experience treating. On the positive side, her blood sugar and salt levels are pretty good and we haven't had to give her much of a boost, which is also common in conjunction with IRDS."

"What else?" he asked, voice barely audible as he spoke for the first time since entering the room. Shawna looked at him, surprised. "What haven't you told me?" he wanted to know. The woman sighed and then pointed to the heart monitor.

"She has a congenital heart condition called Mitral Regurgitation. It's quiet rare to see it at birth; normally the condition develops over time and shows itself in more elderly patients."

"The Mitral valve leaks blood back into the left ventricle from the left atrium because it doesn't close fully when the heart pumps out the blood," he said automatically. Shawna nodded, surprised.

"Yes."

"Is it acute or chronic?"

"Acute. The tachycardia was the only clue we had in trying to diagnose the condition. How much do you know about the MR?"

"Not a great deal," he replied, truthfully. "I was a coroner in Los Angeles before I went to grad school, but not much of a cardiac specialist."

"Right, well because the valve leaks, when the heart contracts to pump blood out into the aorta from the atrium, it works twice as hard because it's also pumping the blood that went back into the ventricle. Over time, the left ventricle deteriorates and becomes less functional. The volume of blood that flows back into the ventricle creates pressure on the atrium which in turn puts makes it difficult for the pulmonary veins to properly drain blood from the lungs, which then leads to pulmonary congestion. Pulmonary congestion is,"

"Heart failure," supplied Gil, his face bleak.

"Yes," agreed Shawna.

"What are the options?" he wanted to know, his fingertips grazing the plastic as he reached out to touch his daughter, only to be stopped short by the protective barriers around her.

"Repairing the valve, or replacing it. In her case, the backward flow of blood is classified as moderate to severe, the parameters of which are forty to sixty percent. Your daughter has presented with fifty percent since we discovered the condition."

"Repairing it would be a better option," he noted, "if it's feasible. If she had a mechanical valve it would wear out eventually and she'd need it replacing. And a lifelong dependency on warfarin or other blood thinners is something to avoid if possible."

"I agree, but a cardiac surgeon will have to make a decision about the best way forward. Repairing the valve is a controversial topic, and many surgeons prefer simply to replace it. I have spoken with Alice Kelvin, a pediatric cardiac specialist, and she's going to take over your daughter's cardiac care this afternoon. I know she prefers repair to replacement, but again, it all depends on what is possible and what is not."

"When is all this likely to happen?" he asked, feeling old and strained. His head was throbbing again, and his ribs and shoulder were white hot with the effort of sitting upright for so long.

"I don't know," admitted Shawna. "Right now, she's as stable as we can get her, considering the level of prematurity and complications. Obviously we would like her to improve and grow as much as possible before surgery, but the risks of waiting might be too great. Alice will be here around four o'clock; do you want me to ask her to come and speak with you, or ask if you can come back up here?"

"I'd like to come back up here," he said immediately, leaning back as far as he could into the chair to take the pressure off his protesting bones. "My wife is in surgery. I don't know when she'll be awake," he sighed and wiped his eyes again with the tissue. He remembered waking Sara up and making love to her on her birthday; they had laughed together over breakfast as their baby danced around inside her stomach, her feet connecting with their palms. How had such a wonderful morning come to this?

Joan reappeared and pushed the chair back toward his room as exhaustion caught up with him rapidly, he wavered unsteadily on the brink of sleep, barely coherent as Joan scolded him for overreaching himself. In the hallway Candy caught up with them; not more than ten feet inside the NICU she had had to turn around and leave. It was not fair that Sara was downstairs in the operating room, three days after her child's birth and had not even had the chance to meet her. Despite her fears, and need for reassurance, Candy couldn't make herself meet the baby before her friend had a chance to get to know her own daughter. The haunted look in Gil's eyes as the doctors spoke had convinced her that he needed the time alone to adjust to and take in the situation. She felt an odd mixture of guilt, and the calm understanding of knowing she was doing the right thing as she stood in the hallway and offered silent prayers to whoever was listening.

Joan reinstalled Gil in his bed, reconnecting the monitors and IV's. She tucked the blankets and grumbled over his stress altered vital signs. He didn't notice; half asleep, he stared at the wall through heavy eyes, seeing not the mass produced Monet print, but his baby girl in her purple cap and net of wires.

"I need Sara," he mumbled, eyes closed and voice slurred. "We both need her."


	33. Chapter 33

Gil slept solidly for hours, his battered body needing the rest desperately, and his mind needing an escape from the battering of emotions that had rained down on him in the couple of hours he had spent with the doctors. In need of her own emotional respite, Candy left the hospital, collecting Sammy, Hank and Lucy and heading for the park. A long walk would do both her and the dogs a world of good.

…

Andrea Thistle spoke softly to her patient as she drove the last screw home and then put aside the drill. She glanced at the anesthesiologist, concerned for the vital signs and general health of the woman, who had been put through the mill. He nodded at her, and she signaled Zachary to take x-rays. Her assistant put the pictures up on the screen and she looked at him pointedly, an eyebrow raised.

"It looks perfect," he said, his index finger tracing over the lines of their work. "Man there's a lot of metal there," he whistled. "She'll set off the scanners at the airport if she travels anywhere."

"So will her husband," remarked Andrea, preparing a suture kit. "He's got plenty in his shoulder now too." She set tiny, deft stiches, her hands working delicately to minimize any scaring as much as possible. "Get those images of her knee up," she instructed, "I want another look before we decide what to do." As Zachary hurried to as he was bid, Andrea hummed to herself and murmured soothingly to her patient, telling the unconscious woman all about the success of her husband's shoulder surgery.

…

It was nearly dinner time when Gil woke, coming to his senses much quicker than before as he registered the movements of a nurse at the side of his bed. She saw his eyes open and smiled brightly, revealing brilliant green irises and a hint of mischief.

"Doctor Grissom, welcome back to the land of the living!" Gently she helped his into a semi-sitting position.

"Just Grissom," he replied, taking stock of his physical state.

"Well then, Just Grissom, how are you feeling?"

"Tired, sore, a little groggy." He peered at her name tag; Jenni.

"On a scale of one to ten, where's your pain at right now?" she asked, adjusting his pillows to make sitting as easy as possible.

"Which pain?" he asked dryly. She smiled and settled an extra blanket over his legs as he shivered slightly.

"Why don't you tell me what hurts, worst to least," she suggested, making notes on his apparent mental faculties and other physical injuries.

"My shoulder is an eight, so is my arm. My chest is a seven and my head a six. Everything else just aches, somewhere around a four or five."

"Ok, well this should help, and it won't make you very sleepy either." Jenni administered a dose of something Doctor MacAndrew had prescribed, and then checked for a pulse in the fingers of his injured hand. Finding it nice and strong she smiled, the gentleman really didn't need any more complications in his life right now, and a blood clot would certainly have that effect.

"What can you tell me about my wife?" he asked, breathing a little easier as the pain medication quickly took effect. Jenni noticed with satisfaction that he relaxed back into the pillows, no longer holding his body stiffly in an effort to alleviate some of the pain.

"I know she's out of surgery and in recovery, as of about," she paused and looked up at the clock, "fifteen minutes ago." Gil sighed, and Jenni observed the look of relief glide over his face. "Doctor Thistle will be up to talk to you in about half an hour."

"When can I see Sara?" he asked, desperation in his features.

"Doctor Fielding is trying to arrange for you to share a room, but she's still classified as a higher trauma level, so it will be at least tomorrow before you get moved in together."

"How long am I going to be here?" he asked, blinking slowly.

"A while," she replied, adjusting the IV port on his arm. "You have a serious concussion; you don't even get to try standing up until tomorrow evening maybe. You can't tolerate sitting straight up for more than a few minutes, and you definitely can't look after yourself right now. Not to mention the fact that you have a risk of pneumonia and there are three drains in your shoulder and upper arm that have to come out before you're allowed to go anywhere. And I can tell you're dizzy and nauseous, even if you refuse to say anything about it." He glared at her, and she laughed.

"I slipped some anti-emetics into your cocktail here," she told him, lightly tapping his arm above the IV port. "Under any other circumstances they wouldn't let you out of this bed, let alone the room, but I think we might be able to swing a little trip to the other side of the unit after we visit Doctor Kelvin and your little girl later."

"We?" he raised an eyebrow.

"I'm under strict instructions from Joan to keep a very close eye on you; now that you're awake I can see what she means, you give me the impression that you might try and stage a prison break if I don't pay close enough attention." She smiled sympathetically when he winced sharply as his good hand cramped up, and gently kneaded the muscles, loosening them.

"Have you heard anything new?" he asked, eyes closed against the pain. "About my daughter?"

"No," was the kind reply. "But until you see the specialist, I think no news is good news." He nodded, and sighed with relief as his fingers relaxed.

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," he murmured softly, more to himself than Jenni. "We lost two, and they said that was it, we would never have another chance. She's so treasured, and she doesn't even know it. I can't even hold her and tell her. Sara hasn't even_ met_ her, doesn't even know she's here," his voice cracked slightly as Jenni kept hold of his hand, hoping to sooth him. "She's in a box, _a box_… like she's some kind of … of science experiment! I spent decades with my head in a microscope until Sara made me look up and see the beauty in the world; we both worked for _years_ to put criminals away and make a difference." He trailed off, lost for words, his anguish clearly visible in the stormy depths of his troubled eyes.

"I'm sorry," said Jenni quietly, struck once more by the harsh realities of life that were seen all too often in the Emergency Medicine department. After a moment, she asked, "Are you hungry?" He nodded agreement, fighting off a yawn that made his head ache and his shoulder throb. With a promise to be right back, Jenni left him to his thoughts.

He stared at the Monet on the wall, wondering what Sara would feel when she woke. He supposed it would depend on how much medication she was on and how lucid her mind was. If she was coherent, she would panic. After they had lost Max, she had suffered recurring nightmares for weeks, waking confused, terrified and distraught. He had folded her in his arms every time, tight against his chest in an effort to make her feel safe and secure. Somehow he doubted they would let him share her bed here. He wanted to see her more than anything, right now in order to reassure himself that she was still here, still with him.

He had spent years being disgusted, appalled and occasionally shocked at the stupidity, carelessness and lack of responsibility humanity was capable of, but never before could he remember hating as he now did. His blood felt cold, his chest was tight and his stomach rolled with blind rage as he struggled to breathe. The knuckles of his good hand crunched and turned stark white under his light summer tan as he clenched the blanket, trembling.

"Hey now, what's this?" Jenni was back, bearing a pot of green Jell-O which she promptly abandoned on the table and perched herself on the edge of the bed. "Are you prone to panic attacks?" he voice was gentle and soothing. He gave a quick, tense shake of his head, which made a wave of pain spread fiercely down his neck, shoulder and arm, and a groan subsequently escape his lips.

"May I try something?" she asked. He looked at her and blinked, giving the tiniest of nods. Murmuring away in a steady, pleasantly low tone, Jenni placed a hand on either side of his head and began to apply pressure steadily in some areas and fleetingly in others. Her fingertips moved over his temples, forehead, jaw and skull, lingering in places and moving rhythmically over others.

His breathing slowed, his body relaxed and a good deal of the pain subsided. When he opened his eyes and stared at her in astonishment she smirked and sat back.

"Wow," he mumbled.

"Feel better?" she asked, reaching for the Jell-O.

"Where did you learn that?" he wanted to know, taking a hesitant spoonful of green goo.

"I get dreadful migraines, and my girlfriend is a massage therapist in the orthopedic rehab unit. She tried it one day on me and the effect was amazing. I specialize in head trauma care, and a few months later I had a patient who had repetitive panic attacks after waking from a coma. I tried the massage a last resort, and it worked. Lena and I have been working on different variations ever since, for migraines, panic disorders, amnesia, centralized pain relief in bed-bound patients, even in aiding coma recovery."

"It's not like a traditional massage," he commented.

"No, we found that multiple sensory stimulation is the key, hence the song I was humming, and the different levels of pressure. The low light levels in here help too."

"Fascinating, and thank you," he managed a small appreciative smile that quickly morphed into a grimace as he ate another mouthful of lime flavored slime.

"I'm sorry," she apologized, "It's all they would let me give you for now." He wrinkled his nose and continued to eat; the food felt good in his stomach, regardless of the revolting assault on his taste buds.

He had just finished when a lady in emerald green scrubs under a white lab coat came in. She was a pixie of a woman, with royal blue eyes more domineering than a glacier and hair so red it looked like the crown of her head was aflame; an odd contradiction on one face, until she stepped closer and he got the feeling she could both silence a room, or engulf it in fire, with a single look.

"Doctor Grissom," she began, in a voice far softer than he would have imagined, based on her exterior appearance.

"It's 'Just Grissom'," interrupted Jenni with a grin. The woman looked at the nurse and raised an eyebrow that looked as though it could slice clean through flesh with more ease than a scalpel. Gil swallowed carefully, eyes on Jenni, but she just smiled at the doctor and continued changing the IV bag.

"Well then, Grissom," continued the doctor, "My name is Doctor Andrea Thistle, but like you I prefer just Thistle."

"My wife," he said, immediately, realizing this was who he had been waiting for.

"Will be moved from Recovery to ICU soon," she said calmly.

"How," he began, impatient and desperate to know more.

"Sara came through surgery well," said Thistle, placing a calming hand on his knee. "Everything I set out to do was achieved, and she is on track for recovery."

"What," he couldn't help but interrupt again.

"Sara's right leg took a heavy impact in the crash, resulting in multiple injuries." Thistle took a sheet of paper out the notes she had carried in with her and showed him a skeletal diagram of the leg. "The ankle has what is called a trimalleolar fracture; which means three fractures, here, here and here." Thistle pointed to ankle joint where the tibia and fibula met the smaller bones of the foot. Taking a pen, she drew a line and series of cross hatches. "This is where I secured a plate with pins to stabilize the bone." Thistle paused, watching him for signs that he wasn't following her; finding none, she continued. She drew a series of x's on the bones of the lower leg, three on the tibia and two on the fibula.

"These indicate fractures," Thistle tapped the marks with her pen, "and these three," she pointed to two tibia marks and a corresponding mark on the fibula in line with the lower tibia mark, "presented as open fractures. That means the bone,"

"Penetrated through the skin," finished Gil, feeling sick. "Was Sara conscious at any time after the accident?"

"No, she was unconscious at the scene when paramedics arrived, and bystanders who responded as soon as the accident happened reported that both you and your wife had been knocked out by the impact. Since her arrival here, and the subsequent emergency surgery, she has been kept in a medically induced coma."

Gil felt a sigh of relief ripple through him with the knowledge that Sara had not been subjected to that kind of agony. Reading his expression accurately, Thistle nodded reassuringly.

"She's not in any pain, she won't remember the last few days at all."

"Good! Her leg?"

"Ah yes, I used titanium rodding inserted through the center of the bone, here and here, to stabilize the bones. The rods are permanent, and I felt necessary because of the severity and location of the fractures. The bones need to be structurally sound because their weight-bearing responsibilities."

Thistle pulled another diagram out of her file; this one showed a knee and upper section of the lower leg.

"Now the tricky bit," she said, once again marking x's on the paper. "During the crash, something impacted the passenger side front end hard enough that the frame of the car broke apart and effectively trapped Sara's lower leg. In the process it pierced the skin in two places, and caused catastrophic damage to the knee. This is called a lateral tibial plateau fracture- right here at the head of the tibia where the weight load on the bone is the greatest. There are also associated tearing injuries to the medial collateral ligament, the anterior cruciate ligament and the posterior cruciate ligament." She paused, looking at him once again, carefully searching for signs of emotional overload. He gave a weak smile, recognizing what she was doing.

"Now for the good news," she promised, drawing yet more lines on her paper. "This is the repair work to stabilize the bone; the knee ligaments can't be repaired," she tapped her pen, "The ACL is here, that's the MCL and this is the PCL. I can do nothing about the ligaments for a least a month; the swelling needs to go down first."

"But it will mean further surgery," said Gil flatly.

"I'm afraid so, yes. I fully expect the bones to heal well, and I'm optimistic that the next surgery will restore Sara's knee to its former state. At the very least I would expect her to be able to function normally; run, walk and swim and so on."

"Is that it?" he asked, wearily.

"For her leg, yes."

"What else?"

"I looked at the x-rays of her skull fracture, and I don't believe any intervention is necessary. The wound on her left shoulder is also on the road to recovery; remarkably there was very little damage commensurate with the size of the glass shard. The cephalic vein was pierced, but not severed, and the surrounding muscles required stitching, but there was nothing more serious. The glass applied pressure to the vein, stopping most of the bleeding until it was removed. I looked at Doctor Fielding's imaging of the repairs, but there is nothing better I could do."

"So her shoulder will be fine?"

"I would expect so, yes. Her leg will require extensive rehabilitation and physical therapy, but provided there are no complications, I would expect that within about a year her leg will be functioning as it needs to."

Gil nodded, leaning back slightly and briefly closing his eyes.

"How long until she wakes up?" he asked. Thistle tapped her pen, considering.

"Well, Doctor Fielding and I decided that keeping her sedated for another twenty four hours would be beneficial; it's a lot milder than the level we've kept her at until this point, but the extra time to allow her body to settle will help get the healing process started. The surgery went well, but her blood pressure dipped several times, and she's requiring assistance with keeping her oxygen saturation levels where they should be. Tomorrow afternoon, providing all is well, we will stop the administration of the sedatives and allow her to wake on her own."

Thistle paused and shuffled her papers, then looked at him.

"She's doing alright," she assured the tormented husband. "She is making progress, it just seems very slow right now, but really, considering it's only been a few days, she's doing great." She pulled out another diagram, this one of a shoulder.

"Now then, your shoulder and arm has possibly enough metal in it now to rival Sara," she said, scrawling marks once again. She considered for a moment before continuing. "Well, maybe not that much, but you will set off a metal detector. The scapula right here?... that was fractured, which is very unusual, as is the severity and misalignment of the bone. The clavicle along here… that was fractured twice and also misaligned. My assistant was mightily impressed with the angle of the bone fragments. I have to say; you and your wife have enriched his education dramatically."

"I'm so glad we could help," replied Gil, his tone a dry as the Sahara Desert.

"Hmm, well, we used pins here, here and here, and screwed a plate into the clavicle from this x to this one." Her pen was scribbling again, and he found himself wondering if the x's and lines were going to go on forever. His attention wandering slightly now as he wearied, he listened as she continued on. A fracture at the anatomical neck of the humerus, several in the radius and ulna, for which he now had a titanium rod in each bone. She talked about various simple breaks in the wrist that would heal with immobilization, and some muscle damage. The supraspinatus muscle in the shoulder had suffered an acute tear, and the corresponding nerve had been damaged. He caught one or two other muscle names before she stopped, peering at him.

"You need a nap," she said firmly, settling him back into a lying position. He tried to protest, to tell her that he needed to go and see Sara, and their baby. His traitor body had other ideas though, and before he could help it, he was out for the count.

…

Wanting to check on her post-operative patient, Thistle walked into Sara's room only to be greeted by pandemonium. Three nurses were crowded by the bed, frantically adjusting machines and medication inputs.

"What's going on?" demanded Thistle, her eyes sweeping over the screeching monitors.

"Blood pressure's dropping and tachycardia is rising," Sheila Watkins called as she examined the patient's airway. "Oxygen saturation has plummeted; she was fine until about three minutes ago, right after they brought her in from recovery." Thistle tossed her notes unceremoniously onto a counter out of the way and grabbed a pair of gloves.

"What did the anesthesiologist give her?" she demanded, listening to Sara's chest and peeling back her eyelids. A second nurse hurried to the monitor, searching the electronic patient records.

"Her lips are blue," muttered Sheila, just as the heart monitor let out a shrill, continuous beep.

"Shit," cussed the third nurse, a young man named Nilo who had joined the unit six months ago after graduating in Oregon.

"Get a tube in now," ordered Thistle, jerking her head at Sheila. "You," she nodded at Nilo, "compressions."

"Propofol," came the call from the computer.

"Get adrenalin," instructed Thistle, "this is a hypersensitive reaction." She looked up a Sheila, "Have you got that airway yet?"

"Two seconds… yep, I got her. We got you honey, you're going to be just fine," Sheila soothed, attaching the bag and squeezing air into her patient's lungs. Annette thrust the vial at Thistle, rattling of the Propofol stats from Sara's notes. The doctor pushed the drug into the IV port as Nilo kept going with chest compressions.

They waited; the air so thick with tension that Sheila felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. Finally the heart monitor fell silent for a moment before settling back into a rhythm. Thistle let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding, and turned to Annette.

"Get Doctor Christopher Pike back down here now, he's an anesthesiologist; I need him to change the sedation method." The nurse nodded and left; Thistle looked up at the monitors. "She's settling back down, but we need to put her back on mechanical ventilation. Sheila, I want a chest x-ray to see if there is any lung damage. There's got to be a reason for this breathing issue beyond the initial blood loss. Nilo, call a respiratory specialist to come and see her. Who's the attending physician?"

"Doctor Blackman, but she hasn't seen her yet; this happened less than five minutes after she arrived, we were still settling her in," Sheila began to tidy up the mess resuscitation had left.

"Hmm," Thistle was thoughtful as looked through the history of the various monitors. "What's the issue here sweetheart," she murmured softly, "you're doing so well, and that husband of yours is very anxious to see you. We'll get to the bottom of it; we don't need to stress him out any more than he already is. If he could, he'd be out of that bed of his and at your side before his nurses could blink, I'd wager."

"X-ray in ten minutes," said Sheila.

"Blackman said she'll be here in five," reported Nilo.

"Good, let's get her patched up and back in the land of the living. She's got a little girl to get to know."


	34. Chapter 34

"I can't believe how tiny she is," Gil murmured, his attention transfixed by the miniature human being in the incubator in front of him.

"She's so perfect though," replied Jenni softly, "look at her eyelashes!" Gil looked, mulling over the words of the consultant, Alice Kelvin. Heart surgery would be needed soon, but waiting as long as possible was the plan of action in order to allow as much development as possible. And there was development; eyeing the monitors, Gil saw the slight improvement in respiration Shawna had mentioned. Alice had spoken favorably of repairing the valve, but needed more tests to confirm whether or not it would be possible.

"Why wasn't this picked up on a scan before she was born?" Gil asked Shawna.

"It's not always visible," replied the doctor, "medicine has come a long way in recent years, but it's not perfect. You may have found out in the last few weeks, if the accident hadn't happened and your wife was able to carry her full term, but I can't say that for sure."

"Come on," said Jenni, taking charge of his chair. "I predict you have another twenty minutes max in you before you need another nap, and we need to go see Sara." He sighed and nodded; sitting upright was both exhausting, and nauseating.

"Thank you," he told Shawna.

"My pleasure," she replied with a small smile.

"If anything changes," he began.

"We'll let you know right away," was the promise.

…

Sara was back in room three-eleven again, post-surgery. It was warm, quiet and dim as Gil sat beside the bed, Sara's hand resting in his. Gauze and bandaging covered the right side of her head where the impact with the window had occurred. His eyes strayed to the machinery, feeling a sickening sense of déjà vu. A neck brace, one far more bulky and imposing than the one they had him wearing when out of bed, kept her head perfectly aligned.

A ventilator hissed rhythmically, its harsh, cold plastic tube snaking down her throat to provide the gentle rise and fall of her chest underneath the blankets. Her leg, the focus of the day's drama, was bandaged, splinted and braced to a degree that he wouldn't have though possible; by comparison, her other leg looked tiny, as though wasting away under the blankets.

He could not see the other wounds he had heard so much about; the emergency abdominal surgery, the shoulder injury, or the blunt trauma to the chest, which had necessitated the return of the ventilator. Bruising to the lungs, the respiratory therapists had said, which they just had to wait out. In the meantime, rest, breathing support and suctioning any goo out of her airway was the way forward. Staring at her, Gil didn't want to wait. He wanted to climb in bed with her and slip his arms around her warm, gentle body. He wanted to rewind back to her birthday and get lost in her all over again, never getting up to take her to work.

He caressed the side of her face, smoothing a thumb lightly over her eyebrow and raising her fingers to his lips, but she didn't move, or open her eyes and smile at him. What he wouldn't give at that moment, for one of her sunny grins, or sly smirks. But it didn't come. _Patience_, he told himself. _You heard what they said, she is on the mend_. He glanced at the card above the bed, the one that held allergy information, double checking to make sure Propofol had now been added.

It made him sick to think it, but he wasn't sure if he was glad he hadn't been there when she'd crashed. He'd seen the damage the desert had done first hand, and that had nearly left him in pieces. As carefully as he could, biting his lip as his ribs screamed their protest, he leaned forward and let his head rest on the mattress, pressing his face against her shoulder; wanting just to feel the warmth of her skin and her heartbeat under his touch.

…

"You've overreached yourself," Jenni gently informed him as slid sideways, almost tumbling out of the bed before she had managed to get him back in it. With practiced ease she held him by the shoulders as he vomited a mess of watery blue and green Jell-O onto the floor, his chest heaving with the effort. His head spun ferociously as he gave up any hope of regaining his focus and screwed his eyes tightly shut.

His ribs were on fire; that was the only way to describe the level of pain that had overtaken the persistent aching he had been forcing back all afternoon, intent on the more important task of assuring himself that his two ladies were being well cared for. The twisting motion of toppling sideways was putting pressure in his arm too; a massive wave of agony radiated from the damaged joint, obliterating any other sensation in the area and causing him to gasp for breath and he spat out the last remnants of his lunch.

"It's ok," soothed Jenni, "Let's get you settled," she braced him as gently as possible, ready to lift and slide him back onto the mattress properly. "Ready?" she asked, her hold firm, yet careful. He nodded, his breathing coming in elevated gasps. "One, two, three," she counted off; she lifted, he pushed with his good hand and legs, and he slithered back into the middle of the bed. Exhausted, his good arm gave up and he thumped back against the pillows. The impact, although mild, was enough to push his pain receptors over the edge, and he slipped almost instantly into unconsciousness.

Jenni sighed as cleaned him up, sponging away the mess and swapping the blankets for clean ones. His IV's reattached, she added a slightly higher dose of pain medication the doctor had approved, after noting Gil was most likely lying about his tolerance levels in his efforts to see his wife and daughter. She also checked and added to the fluids he was receiving, if he kept vomiting dehydration was going to be an issue. He was also due for another dose of antibiotics; checking off items on his chart she hummed cheerfully to herself.

Checking the time she figured he would probably sleep through the night now, and added the small amount of sedative that his physician had recommended, wanting him to sleep as much as possible given the amount of activity Gil was pushing himself through during the day. With a soft good night and promise to be back in the morning, she signed him over to Joan when the night shift started and headed over to the Ortho unit to collect Lena; they had a casserole in the fridge and a paper to submit to a medical journal.

…

Alice Kelvin sat at a desk gazing intently at a monitor as the late afternoon sun cast a gentle light through the window to her side. It was a nice contrast to the harsh florescent hospital lighting. Lips pursed in concentration Alice scribbled a series of notes while the right and left hands of her surgical team looked on, surveying the abnormal heart movements before them.

"It looks possible," said Luke, sitting back in his chair at last, rubbing his eyes. Vanessa nodded, despite the fact that a small frown was nestled in her brows.

"That image is really small," she commented. "How old is the patient?" Alice sighed.

"Three days," she replied.

"Is that all?" groaned Luke.

"Post thirty-one weeks gestation," finished Alice. Vanessa gasped, horrified. That was frightfully young for open heart surgery.

"Obviously I want to wait as long as possible; she's got all the usual preemie issues, and the parents are both in ICU, but we need to be prepared in case it becomes urgent," Alice changed the screen over to another page and pointed with her finger. "The backward blood flow is fifty percent; it's been holding steady, but with the IRDS they're having a hard time getting her oxygen saturation levels to stay where they need to."

"So be prepared," said Luke, his eyes narrowed with thought. Alice nodded.

"Go home, sleep, and look after yourselves. I'd like to at least get a month of growth, but I don't think that will be the case."

…

Gil woke as Joan was finishing his morning routine. He groaned, a hand moving to his head, covering his eyes as light met his pupils, causing an increase in the drum beat behind his temples. A straw met his lips.

"Sip," commanded the imperious voice from his most recent nightmare. He did as he was told, screwing his eyes as tightly shut as possible under his hand in an effort to beat back to pain. He felt pressure on the back of his other hand as something was injected into his IV port, but he refused to look, concentrating on making the water stay in his stomach.

After a while the pain subsided and he was able to crack his eyelids open a little. Joan was there, changing his dressings. He promptly shut his eyes again and breathed slowly and deeply, trying to relax muscles that were stiff and sore from inactivity. Childishly he hoped that she would disappear before he looked again. He peeked through one eye; she stood there, waiting, with a hand on her hip.

"Good morning," she intoned, her frown as severe as ever.

"Hello," he managed. She sighed and handed him the cup with a straw.

"If you can keep some breakfast down for an hour then we'll take a trip up to the NICU," she said, in what might have been an attempt at kindness, but was tempered by a look of disapproval. Gil nodded carefully; hoping sheer force of will would beat back the nausea. Joan picked up his chart and rattled off a stream of morning questions he was becoming all too accustomed to. Only when she left did he breathe a sigh of relief and resettle himself as comfortably as possible.

…

Hospital routine was boring, he decided as he lay in bed, drowsy and uncomfortable. People came and went systematically, checking this and that, adding medications or changing dressings and bedding, questioning him, prodding him, poking him, stealing his bodily fluids. He drifted hazily, his mind still not one hundred percent clear of the post concussive fog, and prone to confusion when he tired. Joan had followed through on her promise to take him to see his daughter. Thirty minutes sat next to the incubator, murmuring softly and drinking in the sight of the tiny little girl had exhausted him. His bones felt as weak as warming candle wax, his mind as clear as a fish tank with a broken filter.

His shoulder nagged constantly, in between bouts of raging fire and pounding drums when the pain killers dwindled. Thistle had stopped by, examined the wounds and the swelling, said something he vaguely remembered as promising, and then swept out again, summoned to another emergency. He yawned and fidgeted, trying to find a comfortable spot, when his normally favored position was curled on his injured side with Sara pressed to his chest.

He was on the cusp of slumber when two men entered the room, shrouded in expensive suits and an air of importance. He blinked sleepily at them, observing their purposeful, authoritative walk and the elegant leather file carried by the shorter of the two.

"Doctor Grissom?" asked the taller, a slender man with sparse blonde hair, gray eyes and a pointed chin.

"Yes," replied Gil, blinking sluggishly.

"My name is Colin Kleenar, I'm the Managing Director of Human Resources for KappPuttKoorper Pharmaceuticals. This is my colleague, Gareth Bicker, counsel for KPK."

The shorter man nodded in greeting. Kleenar continued, "We're here today to talk to you about Nicholas Lockheed."

"Who?" Griss rubbed his eyes with his good hand, and then reached out for his cup of water, arm trembling with exhaustion. Bicker handed it to him, and then unzipped his expensive binder, pulling out a sheet of paper.

"Nicholas Lockheed was hired as a driver for KPK Pharmaceuticals six months ago. On September 16th he was returning from a delivery to the student medical center at Dartmouth University campus when he was involved in an auto collision with your vehicle."

"He was drunk," Gil mumbled, swallowing another mouthful of water and wishing his head would clear.

"Indeed he was," continued Bicker, "police reports show his blood alcohol level was three and a half times the legal limit. KPK has since discovered that Mr. Lockheed has a long history of substance abuse issues and corresponding legal infractions."

"You hired him," commented Gil, struggling to stay awake.

"Yes," acknowledged Kleenar, with a slight inclination of his head. "It has come to our attention that the recruiter who hired Mr. Lockheed is in fact a close personal friend of Mr. Lockheed, and expunged his record in order to secure the driving position. The recruiter in question has since been released from their position at KPK."

"We're here today to discuss with you, in the light of damaged caused by Mr. Lockheed's actions, your intentions with regards to the future, and the offer of restitution on behalf of KPK Pharmaceuticals."

Gil sipped slowly, not quite believing this was happening to him.

"You want to pay me off, so I don't sue," he said flatly.

"We are here to discuss KPK taking responsibility of any medical costs associated with your family and the accident in question, and making a generous financial donation in return for your agreement to abstain from legal action," corrected Kleenar smoothly.

Grissom swallowed, his head spinning alarmingly as he tried to keep down the orange Jell-O Joan had presented him with before she left. He was trying desperately to come up with an answer when Jenni walked in to check on him. She stopped, green eyes hardening with ire as she took in the appearance of her patients' two visitors.

"Who are you?" she demanded, hand on her hip in defiance. Kleenar introduced himself and Bicker, and then started to explain that they were there on behalf of KPK.

"Stop right there," ordered Jenni, furious. "I know exactly what you're doing here. This man has a head injury, this is an Intensive Care Ward and you do not have the right to be back here talking to him. There are two people on the visitors list, and neither of you fit the description." She stepped up to the bed and surveyed Gil, taking in his clammy skin and half closed eyes, the confused set of his eyebrows and the tightly drawn lines of pain decorating his face.

"Where's my wallet?" Gil asked her, his voice weak with pain and exhaustion. Jenni bent and fished a plastic bag of personal belongings from the cabinet next to the bed. Gil flipped open the worn flap and dug behind his driver's license for a business card he had stashed there years ago. Disliking Kleenar the most, he handed it to Bicker.

"Please contact my attorney and address your concerns to him," he requested, his tone inflected with finality. The men nodded, said something that Gil didn't hear and then left. Jenni helped him sit forward slightly and held a basin while he heaved, one hand gently rubbing his back.

"You need to sleep," she said softly. He nodded, rinsing his mouth and held up seven fingers before she could ask him to gauge his pain level.

"I spoke to Doctor Blackman a little while ago; they're going to ease off Sara's sedation in a while. She'll start to wake up this evening. We'll go up and see her," she promised, helping him settle comfortably and tucking the blankets more securely in place. Before leaving him to his nap she turned the lights to the lowest level to ease sensory disturbances and refilled the water cup, making sure it was in reach. He was receiving fluids intravenously, as well as nutrition, but the sooner he started keeping himself hydrated orally the better.

…

By midafternoon Gil was able to drink some clear broth and keep it down, along with yet more Jell-O; yellow this time. He was starting to wonder if the hospital kitchens were staffed by young children. His head clearing somewhat, he went back to sleep more peacefully than before and woke near seven pm feeling more energetic and comfortable than he had since arriving.

"You look a lot better," grinned Jenni as she walked through the door.

"I feel better," he acknowledged, moving his bad arm carefully to test it. It hurt, but not as badly as it had done earlier in the day.

"How many fingers?" asked the nurse. Gil held up five, confidently and very happy with that improvement.

"Ok, how about the nausea?"

"Slight, but manageable," he said.

"Good, but don't be surprised if it comes back as you get tired." He nodded with understanding and resignation.

"Well, I think we're all clear to head over and see Sara," Jenni smiled at the look of combined relief, delight and impatience that spread over his features. "But first, I have something for you. Shawna and Rachel thought you might like these." From a pocket of her scrubs she pulled a small white envelope and handed it to him. It was unsealed and he easily managed to one-handedly removed three Polaroid photographs of his baby girl.

As he marveled over the images, Jenni set about disconnecting all his monitors and tubes and getting the chair ready. She had managed to borrow one that would allow him to sit leaning back slightly, to take some pressure off the broken ribs and shoulder, and hopefully draw out the amount of time he would be able to tolerate sitting up.

He was still gazing at the pictures when they arrived at room three-eleven, and when Jenni parked the chair next to the bed, he carefully placed them on the blankets and leaned forward, taking Sara's hand in his. Her eyes were moving underneath her eyelids and his heart clenched; she was having a nightmare. Transferring her hand to a careful hold in his injured one, her reached forward and pressed his palm to her cheek, speaking quietly to her, soothing her as he had so many times before.

She responded to his touch like she always did, and for a fleeting moment he thought they may have been back in their own bed at home on an ordinary day. But then the ventilator hissed and the display on the unit above the bed lit up, the harsh light reminding him of exactly where he was.

Slowly, almost excruciatingly slowly, Sara began to wake up under his touch, the last remnants of the sedatives clearing from her consciousness. He knew she was aware he was there long before she opened her eyes. Her cheek pressed slightly tighter against his palm as she sought the comfort of his presence. He leaned over as much as he could, murmuring a grateful thanks when Jenni used pillows under his hips and chest to support him and take away some of the strain.

Sara opened her eyes slowly, looking directly up at him as her vision focused and her level of awareness adjusted. Tears brimmed, hot and salty, in her brown gaze, blurring his anxious face before tumbling down her temples to land in tiny droplets on the blue cotton blankets. She could feel the difference; she knew the baby was gone. She was lying on her back and there was no pressure on her spine, there was no warm weight in her belly and no questing hands and feet, exploring her from the inside.

He knew immediately what she was thinking and he shook his head.

"She's not gone," he whispered to her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "We have a daughter Sara, look!" He held up the photograph he had already chosen as his favorite, making sure she could see every last detail. "She's tiny, and early, but she's here and she's ours."

...

...

Whew... so it took a while, but that last chapter was exhausting with all the medical detail in there. Hope you enjoyed this one, Sara's finally awake and I promise baby girl will get her name in the next chapter. For those who are curious, her name has already come up in the story thus far, and not where you may think. As always, thanks for reading and please leave a review, your comments mean so much to me. Cheers, Got Tea?


	35. Chapter 35

Sara was tired, more so than she had ever been in her life. More than she had been after her ordeal in the desert, or during her sleepless college days and nights. She felt more bone weary than she had when pulling off back to back triples with the flu during her time at the crime lab.

Her entire body hummed with a dull numbness, for which she was grateful. She had a sneaking suspicion that if she could feel her torso and limbs she would be overwhelmed by pain. Her head was fuzzy, almost as though clouds had taken up residence inside her brain, obscuring clarity of thought. She knew on some deep level she was in a hospital, she remembered seeing Gil's face inches from her own, and hearing tell her that their baby was alive. She could see the picture, if she concentrated hard, but it was so, so difficult. Every muscle and fiber in her body felt deadened with exhaustion.

She thought about his words; their daughter was alive. After so many months and years of disappointment, losing two children and then living with the crushing promise of never having another, they finally had their baby. She held on to that one thought as she drifted hazily. _I have a daughter. We have our little girl. She's finally here…_

…

Candy hung up the phone and tacked a message to the board for Mary as Mariah came into the office and dropped into a chair, yawning.

"One German Shepard with eleven golf balls now removed from his stomach," she sighed, flexing her fingers and wincing as they crackled.

"Golf balls?" asked Candy, incredulous. Mariah nodded.

"Yep, he's a stray, been hanging around the country club for a while apparently." She leaned back in her chair and took a bite out of the sandwich in her hand. "Any news to tell me?" she wanted to know.

"Well, Sara woke up the night before last, but then slept all day yesterday. She wakes for a few minutes at a time every few hours, but she's totally out of it. No verbal communication beyond one or two words that don't mean anything."

"What did the docs say?"

"She's doing really well physically, but the concussion is going to take a while to heal, just like Gil. He's getting better every day. He went two and a half hours yesterday without a nap, but he's not walking again yet. His nurse says he still has a lot of nausea and dizziness, but it's steadily decreasing. Sara's a bit behind, because of all the sedation, and blood loss and all the body systems that got messed up. I don't really get it, but they said she's doing well considering the trauma."

"It sounds like it," Mariah mumbled, before swallowing. "When are you going over next?"

"This afternoon," replied Candy, "the doc was hoping Sara would be more awake by then."

"Will you take this for me?" asked Mariah, pulling a stuffed kitten out of her pocket. "For the baby."

"Of course," smiled Candy, tucking it into her bag. "Mariah, I have a favor to ask you."

"Sure, what?"

"I have to leave for college at the weekend, and I doubt Gil will be released by then. I need someone to look after Sara's pets during the week; I'll drive back at the weekends because I'm still working shifts here, but they still need looking after until then."

"I'd love too," agreed the vet, smiling. "Where are they? At your house or Sara's?"

"At Sara's; I've been sleeping over there with Sammie. My parents would freak if I took them home, and Socks is upset enough as it is, without taking her somewhere she doesn't know."

"Poor thing," sighed Mariah. "She attached herself to Sara the moment they met. So Socks, Romeo, Juliet, Lucy, Hank and Shakespeare," she listed, trying to remember.

"And the cockroaches," added Candy, apprehensively. Mariah pulled a face but nodded.

"I'd forgotten about those. Ugg, how creepy."

"They're really not that bad," shrugged the girl. "And they're super easy to care for. Just don't leave the lid off, whatever you do. They move like lightening; I have to count and recount them after every feeding, just to convince myself they didn't escape."

"How many are there?"

"Seven. I'll introduce you and show you where everything is before I go," Candy assured her.

…

Greg glanced at his phone yet again, and then checked his email once more before crawling into bed, exhausted. Despite the long, tiring shift he could not settle his mind. Days ago now, he had called Sara to wish her a happy birthday and received no answer. He had emailed and even resorted to calling Grissom, but still nothing. He supposed they could have gone away for a few days, but she hadn't mentioned anything to him during one of their many conversations. Worrying, he slid over as Gizmo, a Jack Russell Terrier he had accidentally and unintentionally adopted a month ago, bounded up next to him, turning the requisite three times in a circle before settling down to sleep. With a sigh, Greg closed his eyes and attempted to do the same.

…

Gil woke to a view of his sleeping wife. He smiled to himself, overjoyed with the sight. Late yesterday afternoon they had finally been moved into a room together; Sara had slept the last day and a half, since waking from her coma but the doctors were pleased with her progress and steady unassisted breathing. She woke briefly for a few moments every so often, but was confused and not really aware of anything. Jenni, who Gil was happy to see was now supervising both of them, was not concerned, and encouraged Gil to talk to her from a chair beside her bed, where he was now capable of sitting for well over an hour before he became dizzy, and the pain in his ribs too much to bear.

As he shifted his gaze to the clock on the wall, five thirty, Candy walked into the room carrying a bag of pajamas, comfy clothing and books.

"Hey Griss, how are you feeling?" she asked, dumping the contents onto the bottom of his bed to show him what she had gathered.

"Improving," he nodded, reaching for a new edition of an entomological journal.

"That came in the mail yesterday, thought you might like to fill your bug reading quota." He grinned at her, admiring the glossy image of a woodcutter ant.

"Thank you, I can't tell you how much I appreciate everything you've done for us," he said, his expression turning more serious.

"You're welcome," was the happy reply as Candy shifted the item to the cabinet beside his bed, and then sprawled in a chair to talk. "I'm going to art school because of Sara; this might start to make a dent in the debt I owe her."

"Sara would never think you owe her anything; she was delighted to help you," said Gil, shifting the bed to a slightly higher angle and sitting up a little more.

"I know, but I'm still eternally grateful." Changing the subject, she asked for news. "So what's the latest?"

"Sara is doing 'as well as can be expected' according to the respiratory therapist. Jenni and Dr. Blackman think he's an eternal pessimist, and that she's fighting hard and doing better than that. Thistle was here this morning; she thinks that all is well with the work she's done on Sara's leg and my shoulder. She said the incisions are healing nicely, and I get to have my stitches out tomorrow." He grimaced with that last admission.

"What's wrong with having stitches out? That's a good thing," said Candy, confused. Gil shuddered.

"Last time I had stitches out, I threw up and then fainted," he confessed.

"Funny," scoffed Candy.

"Not," he retorted, "Serious! The sensation of having the thread pulled out of the skin is the most disgusting thing I have ever experienced."

"You're kidding! Surely?"

"Not at all."

"You were a Crime Scene Investigator! In Las Vegas! You play with bugs for fun! Sara told me you used to take a pint of blood from every new hire!"

"I know, I know," he sighed, "Sara laughed herself into hyperventilation when I told her."

"I can imagine," said Candy dryly. "So, what about baby girl?"

"She's the same; slight improvement in respiration and oxygen saturation but that's about it." His voice was tinged with sadness as he reflected on what the doctors had told him that morning when Joan had taken him up for his customary morning visit. "Doctor Feather says she doing ok, but I wish there was more improvement, something I could see. She looks so helpless, and there's nothing I can do about it." He closed his eyes, blinking back tears and taking a series of deep breaths. Not knowing what to say, Candy stared awkwardly at her hands in her lap for a while. Searching for a safe topic of conversation, she hit on one as she focused on a scratch on the back of her hand that had been accidentally inflicted while she walked the dogs.

"I spoke to Mariah, and she's more than happy to feed your pets during the week," she told him. He looked back at her, his expression blank as he momentarily tried to follow what she was saying.

"You're leaving," he said at last.

"On Saturday afternoon I'm moving into college dorms. After this weekend I'll be back Friday evenings till Sunday nights. Freshmen are required to live on campus, but I'm not giving up my job, and they won't let me take Sammie in dorms, so weekends it is."

"College is an amazing experience, you'll love it," he smiled fondly, thinking back to his own student days.

"I'm looking forward to it. The timing sucks though."

"Nonsense, we'll be fine. I'll text you updates, and you can tell us how you're doing." Candy grinned and looked over at Sara, who was stirring slightly.

"I think she'll wake up in ten minutes or so," said Gil, his gaze running lovingly over his wife's features.

"I don't have ten minutes," sighed Candy. "My mom is taking me shopping to get school supplies." She stood, tugging her t-shirt straight. "I'll see you tomorrow," she continued. "Is there anything you want me to bring you?" she asked. He shook his head and thanked her before she reluctantly wandered out.

Jenni came to check on him, and he asked her to help him into the chair beside Sara's bed. Once settled, he took Sara's hand in his and murmured softly to her, waiting with patience that had come the moment they were placed in the same room together. As long as he could see her, keep an eye on her, he was relaxed in knowing she was alright.

Her eyes opened and she looked straight at him, he had made sure he was in her line of sight, but for a while she said nothing. She lay completely still, her gaze slowly focusing and he could see in her eyes that she was thinking. Her mind was foggy, and the pieces didn't fit together.

"What…" she croaked at last, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. "Where…"

"Dartmouth Medical Center," he said gently. "Do you remember waking up earlier?" She shook her head, eyes closing tightly in pain for a moment. Sara took a deep breath, scrambling sluggishly to put her thoughts in order.

"I dreamed I saw baby girl," she whispered, her voice as raw as her throat. Her hand strayed to her stomach and her eyes widened with alarm.

"I showed you a picture of her," he said softly, smoothing her hair and holding up the photo. "She's in the NICU, but she's holding her own. I saw her this morning." She blinked, confused and he continued. "I'm not allowed to stay too long, mostly because I can only sit up for an hour or so."

"Why?"

"Broken ribs and concussion," he explained. Her eyes searched his, horrified.

"I don't…" she trailed of, floundering.

"It's ok honey," he soothed, leaning down to kiss her forehead. "What's the last thing you remember?" he asked, sitting back up with a wince. She was quiet for long moments, as flashes of memory played through her mind. They were all peaceful, happy moments at home, out walking the dogs or working with Candy, but she had no idea what order they were supposed to be in.

"I don't know," she said at last, her distress evident as tears gathered in her eyes.

"Hey, don't worry about it, it will probably come back to you," he murmured. "I don't remember most of it still." He shifted to a more comfortable position, her hands firmly in his as he stroked her fingers. "We had breakfast and drove to the animal shelter. Candy told me we were hit by a drunk driver. We have matching concussions; firemen cut us out of the car and you had an emergency cesarean. Baby girl was born on your birthday."

"Tell me about her," she whispered.

"She's in an incubator, she weighed three pounds, one ounce at birth and she's fourteen and a half inches tall. I haven't seen her eyes yet, but she's beautiful Sara." Tears were falling freely down her cheeks now, and he brushed them away tenderly, wishing he could crawl in beside her. Footsteps made him glance toward the door.

Jenni walked back in smiling warmly at the pair of them.

"Hi Sara, I'm Jenni. I've been looking after Grissom."

"Hello."

"So, let's start with pain levels. What hurts the most right now?"

"Everything," was the mumbled reply. Jenni smiled sympathetically.

"Can you give me a specific area?"

"My head is bad."

"On a scale of one to ten?"

"Seven."

"Ok, where else?"

"My neck is the same."

"The doctors think you have a whiplash type injury, which is why you have that brace on. I know it's uncomfortable, but it'd be much worse without it. Doctor MacAndrew will be down in a little while to go through a more precise diagnosis now that you're awake. What else is giving you pain?"

"Shoulder, five and here," Sara put her hand on her stomach, her face a twisted grimace of hurt. "Eight."

"How about your leg?" asked Jenni, scribbling away on Sara's notes.

"Nine," was the tight reply. Gil gently caressed her cheek, trying to take her mind off the pain. He was about to ask Jenni not to wait for the doctor before giving her medication when Ian MacAndrew himself walked in. He was a tall man, well over six feet, with gentle hands and a quiet smile. Quickly and efficiently he walked Sara through testing, determining the range of her whiplash, her cognitive abilities post head trauma and other physical limitations. By the time he was done and nodded to Jenni to administer the pain relief, Sara was sweating lightly with exhaustion, exertion and pain. Despite attempting to argue that she wanted to go and see their daughter, before she got halfway through her sentence, Sara was asleep and dreaming hazily.

"She's doing well," Ian said to Gil. "Her mental abilities are sharp, the whiplash isn't too serious and will clear up fine with therapy though she'll have the brace for a few weeks. Internally, she's healing nicely from the cesarean and hysterectomy, but that's also going to take several weeks before she can get up and around. Bed rest mostly for about six weeks."

"When can she see our daughter?" asked Gil.

"She's going to be bed bound for a while," the doctor began.

"I understand that," said Gil quietly, "but Sara has been through an extremely traumatic experience. We can't have any more children, and our daughter is gravely ill. We have already lost two babies Doctor MacAndrew; Sara needs to meet our child."

"I can arrange everything," promised Jenni, looking at the doctor.

"You're right," he said to Gil. "These are extraordinary circumstances; we will make it happen. However, we need to get Sara settled first. I can't have her fighting her emotions and her body; that would be seriously detrimental to her recovery. She needs to regain strength, and in order to do that she needs rest."

After some parting words with Jenni, he left. Gil sighed and sank back into his pillows as the nurse helped him back into bed.

"It'll be ok," Jenni assured him. "I'll get everything set up and take you both up for a visit before the end of my shift."

"Thank you," he mumbled as he closed his eyes.

…

Sara slept well past dinner time and the purple Jell-O he was starting to get a taste for. It was nearly dark outside when she whispered his name, her tone confused and frightened. He soothed her and reassured her, and called Jenni. Their nurse arrived, smiling and explaining that after a quick check over, she would take them up to the NICU. Sara nodded and held onto Gil's hand as he sat in the wheelchair beside her.

Two orderlies, friends of Jenni's who were big burly lads not long out of school arrived to wheel Sara's bed. They were bright and cheerful, eager to participate in the unorthodox escape from intensive care. Gil smiled and nodded to them, but his focus was on his wife, and the slight frown nestled between her brows despite the copious amounts of morphine in her bloodstream. He felt rather than heard the change in her breathing as they entered the warmth of the NICU. He knew, without looking at her heart monitor, that her pulse was rising in anticipation and fear. The orderlies parked the bed next to the incubator, and stepped back to wait. Jenni carefully maneuvered Sara onto her side, propping her in place with pillows. She moved Gil's chair to the head of the bed, so they formed a right angle around the incubator, as close as they could be with the medical equipment in the way.

Gil looked at Sara's face and felt his heart twist; silent tears were running down her cheeks as she pressed shaky fingertips to the plastic box. He put his hand over hers and squeezed; she glanced over at him with an expression full of so much hurt he felt physical pain in his chest.

"She's doing ok," he murmured, showing her the various monitors and the steady results. He was grateful that in her hazy state she did not linger over the information, instead returning her gaze to their child. He wasn't sure that he could explain about the mitral regurgitation at the moment, and was infinitely grateful to have more time to figure out how to tell her. Instead, he took in the moment; the first time the three of them were together as a family.

Sara stared unblinkingly at the tiny baby, feeling overwhelmed with pain, confusion and love. Love so powerful she felt breathless, and furious. Anger rippled through her veins as she thought of the pathetic excuse for a human being was responsible for her child's suffering. Her gaze fell on the information card and abruptly she was crying again. Gil reached across to brush away her tears, his eyes over bright as he kissed her forehead.

"She hasn't got a name yet," Sara whispered, her heart breaking.

"I wanted to wait for you," he replied, pulling out the card and taking a pen from the patient records clipboard. "Just to make sure we were still in agreement." Sara nodded and sniffed; Jenni stepped forward with a tissue as Gil scribbled out the words Baby Girl Grissom.

"Here, this will help a little." Jenni deftly placed an oxygen mask over Sara's nose and mouth as she wheezed in unsteady, shallow breaths.

Gil finished writing and pushed the card back into its slot.

"Beautiful," said Jenni softly. Gil turned to look at Sara; she smiled and reached for his hand again.

"Thank you," she mumbled, her voice muffled behind the mask as she looked at him. He leaned forward to kiss her again, his lips resting against her forehead as he inhaled and reminded himself just how lucky he was. When he pulled back, murmuring,

"I love you," to her, he found her eyes closed and her breathing steadying into a more comfortable rhythm.

"She's exhausted," said Jenni softly. "She'll sleep for hours now, waking up is hard work."

"I remember," he replied, pulling the blanket closer around her as the orderlies came back. When Jenni moved to push him back to bed, he looked into the incubator again before he lost sight of it. She was still there, sleeping soundly with her purple beanie tucked over her head. He smiled as her fingers wriggled in her sleep; a tiny step, but a defiant one. His eyes flicked over the card and his careful script, proudly declaring her name for all to see. Rowen Emilia Anne Grissom.

...

...

Spring break- woo hoo, finally a chance to update. I'm so sorry for taking so long, I finally have only two more months of being an undergrad. Please read and review, it'd make my day to hear your thoughts.


	36. Chapter 36

Sara shifted queasily in bed and twitched her blankets in irritation. Gil stirred from his light nap and looked over at her, sighing internally. It had been three days since she woke properly and visited their daughter for the first time. Since then they had talked extensively about Rowen's medical complications, and their own injuries. Sara was irritable and in constant pain. She slept for hours at a time, exhausted by a simple meal, or a trip to the NICU. Candy had visited for an hour that morning, to say goodbye before heading off to university, and Sara had been asleep since.

She had a fever that came and went, and had developed an infection in the arm punctured by the glass shard. So far, her body was resisting antibiotics and her breathing was still labored. The nausea that had plagued him for days after waking had finally abated, but seemed to have moved straight over to Sara. Carefully he maneuvered himself out of bed and into the chair next to Sara; two days ago now Jenni had made him stand with a cane for support, something he found amusing, and difficult.

After a week in bed, standing again was much more difficult than it should have been. They repeated the exercise a couple of times a day, and yesterday she had taught him to transfer himself between the bed and chair. He still needed help to reach the bathroom, but at least he could sit with his wife whenever he wanted. Settling himself in a cocoon of blankets with pillows propping up his bad arm, he took her hand in his and stroked her fingers, soothing her back into sleep.

Victoria, the nurse who covered Jenni's days off, found him there that evening as she came in on her last trip around before signing out for the night.

"Grissom, wake up," she said gently, pulling him out of his dozing state.

"Hmm?" he asked, yawning and opening his eyes.

"It's time to get back in bed," she said, helping him up. "It's late, and I'm going home soon."

"I'm tired of being so tired," he grumbled as she tucked blankets around him and lowered the head of his bed.

"I know, but you're doing much better already. It just takes time I'm afraid. Try and think about all the progress you've made."

"It's not my progress that I'm most concerned with," he replied, shifting his pillow.

"That reminds me," she reached into a pocket and pulled out a Polaroid, handing it to him with a smile. "Rachel took that earlier and asked me to give it to you." He thanked her, and stared at the latest picture of baby Rowen as Victoria settled Sara for the night. He was etching the image of his child into his memory when he heard the nurse muttered something under her breath.

"What is it?" he asked, looking up.

"Her fever is back up again, and she's been much quieter today that yesterday. I'll page Doctor Watkins to come and look at her. It could be nothing, but I'd like to get her checked out anyway."

"Who's Doctor Watkins?" asked Gil, who felt that by this point he surely knew every member of staff on the hospital's payroll.

"Heidi Watkins, she's the department supervising physician tonight. You haven't met her before because she just came home from a six month mission in India helping develop an emergency program in rural areas." Victoria picked up the phone and made the page.

"She'll be here in ten minutes. And I will see you in a couple of days, try and get plenty of sleep, ok?"

Gil smiled and nodded, then turned his gaze to Sara, watching the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. Was it his imagination, or was she taking shallower and more rapid breaths? He looked at her respiration readings and felt his heart sink; the change wasn't much, but it was still there.

…

By morning it was clear, the infection was gaining ground. Sara was restless, feverish and confused. Her heart rate was rapid, her breathing worse. Doctor Watkins had changed the antibiotics for a stronger course, hoping to beat the fever back and help Sara breathe easier, a difficult task when her lungs were still bruised and operating at less than their normal function. She explained to Gil, kindly but openly, that she was very concerned about the possibility of Sara developing pneumonia. She ordered more blood tests, wanting to identify the bacterial strain causing the infection, and requested another chest x-ray.

Jenni arrived an hour later and helped him out of bed and into the bathroom. He managed a shower, sitting on a plastic stool, and almost fifteen minutes on his feet, as well as several dozen steps with a cane. Exhausted, he settled in his chair, once again taking Sara's hand and talking softly to her, waiting for her fever to cool and her eyes to open.

By evening, the situation had gone from bad to worse. Sara's body temperature was at 104.5°F and still climbing and she was back on oxygen because her blood saturation levels were falling. She was barely hanging on to consciousness, waking only briefly, but delirious and barely responsive then. By midnight her blood sugar levels were climbing and Doctor Watkins, back on the nightshift, decided it was time to move her back to ICU. Gil watched, frozen and terrified, as they wheeled her out while Joan tried to keep him in his own bed.

An hour later, after Sara was settled, Joan went to talk to the head nurse of the ICU and then returned to Gil's room carrying a small box. As she expected, the man was fidgeting in bed, stressing about his wife and child.

"I have a gift for you," she said gently, looking at his monitors with resignation. His previously much improved and settled vitals were all over the place with anxiety. "It should help you relax a little." Opening the box, she lifted out a monitor and set it up on his bedside table, plugging in various leads and then fiddling with a remote. When she stepped back, Gil's jaw dropped open.

"I went to talk to the head nurse," she explained kindly, "she let me set up a web cam with a live feed so hopefully you would calm down a little. The sooner you regain your strength, the sooner you'll be able to get out of here and take care of your ladies."

"I…" he stuttered, blown away at her gesture. "I… but… thank you," he choked, tears in his eyes. Joan smiled at him and gently patted his good arm.

"Get some rest Doctor Grissom, you need to keep your strength up."

…

When shift change rolled around midmorning, Gil was sitting in bed watching the screen feeling exhausted both mentally and physically. He had napped on and off, but true sleep had evaded him all night.

"You look terrible," said Jenni bluntly as walked in. Wordlessly he pointed to the monitor. "I know," she sighed, reaching for his empty IV bag and replacing it. "I just spoke with Joan, she said the doctors in ICU say they're keeping her blood sugar down with insulin and they've identified the specific bacteria. It's found in bird droppings, which sounds consistent considering it was windshield glass that was embedded in her arm."

"Doctor Watkins came in a couple of hours ago; the wound is septic, and Sara's back on the ventilator. She has pulmonary edema; her lungs are already compromised, and now there's fluid buildup that is essentially drowning her." With every word, Gil felt his throat tighten a notch, until he thought he was going to choke in despair.

"Sara's not going to give up Grissom, she's fought too hard to get this far," Jenni was firm, trying to keep him positive as she took the breakfast tray from the orderly in the doorway. "Cereal and toast with orange juice; eat up and we'll go and see how Rowen is today."

Jenni went to fetch his morning medication, feeling her heart sinking; this family just could not catch a break. She wasn't sure how much more Grissom could take before he cracked, but she knew she was not going to let him lose the ground he had gained in the last few days, not when his wife and daughter needed him. If she had to get tough and pushy, then so be it.

Back in the room, she helped him through the morning bathroom routine, pleased he need much less support than before, and then helped him into some fresh sweat pants and an athletics sweater.

"How far can you walk?" she asked, fastening his sling.

"I don't know," he replied, with a shrug. "I haven't been farther than the nurse's station and back."

"Do you want to try walking to the NICU? The sooner you get yourself mobile, the sooner they're going to let you out of here."

"Ok," he agreed, reaching for his cane. "Let's go." Their progress was slow, he was stiff from inactivity, and exhausted, but they eventually made it to Rowen's incubator. His legs shaky with exertion, he slithered into a chair, taking deep breaths as he leant forward and stared through the plastic. Shawna walked over to speak to him, smiling slightly as Rowen twitched her toes.

"How's she doing doc?" he asked. "I could really use some good news right now." Shawna's face fell, her smile fading.

"I'm sorry, but I can't oblige. She's getting worse; Alice is going to want to operate sooner rather than later."

His chest ached sharply as he listened, as though he'd abruptly plummeted to the bottom of a frozen lake. The room was suddenly far away, and he could hear only a blur of faint noise. Jenni and Shawna were talking to him, but they may as well have been a million miles away for all he knew.

He watched Rowen flex her tiny fingers, entranced. She was still intubated, with her eyes taped shut to prevent them drying out, and a plethora of tubes and wires blanketing her body like a web, but her fingers and toes moved. She had a new hat today; this one was pale green with caterpillars printed in a variety of colors. The image made him smile, despite the wretched despair gripping him.

"Tell me I'm dreaming," he murmured, finding his voice at last. Shawna sighed and pulled a chair up next to him.

"I wish I could," she replied sadly. "The backward flow of blood into the left ventricle is increasing. If Alice doesn't do something soon, the ventricle will be permanently damaged and the risks of heart failure increase substantially."

"What about her breathing? Is it improving?"

"No, the worsening of the regurgitation is making her blood oxygen level drop. The less efficient the heart becomes, the harder it is for the other systems to compensate." He dropped his head into his hands, taking deep steadying breaths. Shawna put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"I heard about Sara," she said quietly. "I'm sorry this has all happened at once. Alice told me she would come and talk to you as soon as she's reviewed the latest test results. That should be soon, it's been a couple of hours since I spoke to her."

"Did she say when she wants to operate?" he asked wearily, running his fingers through his hair, causing it to stand on end. It gave him the appearance of an electrocuted porcupine, which had he realized and thought about, he would have said was rather an accurate description for how stressed, frazzled and worried he felt.

"No, but I would imagine within the next few days."

"Actually, I was thinking tomorrow morning would be best." Alice walked up behind them, notes tucked under her arm and a pen behind her ear. "I'm sorry Grissom, but we have no choice, it needs to be soon. I wanted to wait, but I believe that's just not a viable option anymore."

"It's ok," he said, pressing his lips together tightly, trying to keep his emotions in check. Alice fetched another chair and sat with Grissom and Shawna. Normally she would have taken him to a conference room, but because he was also a patient and had limited visitation time with Rowen, she decided right there and then was fine.

"I have a surgery slot at nine am tomorrow, if that's alright with you," she said, flipping open her chart.

"Yes," he agreed, resigned to the idea.

"Ok, let's talk about what's going to happen. How much do you know about the surgery itself?" asked Alice.

"I know it involves opening the chest cavity and putting her on a cardiopulmonary bypass machine."

"Yes, the heart has to be stopped while the repair takes place. I'm reasonably certain that a repair will be possible, but I can't be absolutely certain until I see the valve. The repair itself should be pretty straight forward, it's the anesthetic and bypass that I'm most concerned about." She went on to detail the exact process, providing him with as much information as she could. The bottom line, as she explained gently, was that the surgery was incredibly dangerous, but so was putting it off any longer.

"She's definitely the smallest patient I've ever performed this operation on," she concluded, "but she's not the most critical and my team is the best."

"She'll be in the best hands possible," said Shawna, speaking for the first time in a while. "Alice will take great care of her."

"I promise," nodded the surgeon.

"Thank you," he murmured. "I just don't like making decisions without being able to talk to my wife."

"Is she sedated?" asked Alice.

"Since yesterday, but she's been confused for a while before that. We did talk a few days ago when she woke up, but not since."

"It's the fever," said Shawna. Gil nodded.

"Yes; they've figured out what the bacteria is now, but her lungs were already weak and now she has pulmonary edema."

"Have they got a respiratory therapist with her?" asked Alice.

"Yes, he came to speak with me yesterday. She's as stable as they can get her; he said it's a waiting game while the new antibiotics kick in." He paused, watching Rowen breathe steadily through the tube in her throat.

"It makes me so angry," he said softly. "Nicholas Lockheed walked out of here without a stitch, and my wife and daughter are both so ill. He was so drunk he doesn't even remember the accident, but Sara and I haven't even had a chance to hold Rowen yet and she needs major surgery. After all the drunks Sara and I sent to jail, we get this as her birthday present. And my mother wonders why I walked away from religion."

…

By the time Jenni and Grissom made it back to his room, Gil was gray with pain, exhaustion and distress, and staggering very unsteadily on his feet, having insisted he walk back. They had taken a side trip to x-ray because Thistle had ordered another set of images on his shoulder, arm and ribs to check his progress, but had he been asked about the excursion he wouldn't have remembered it, as preoccupied as he was with his family and the days' crushing news.

He hobbled inside, heading straight for the bed but stopped short in surprise. Sitting in the chair beside his bed, head resting in one hand and his clothes rumpled from a post shift cross country journey was none other than Greg Sanders.

"Grissom," he gasped, leaping to his feet.

"Greg." Gil blinked, wondering if he was in fact now dreaming. He rubbed a hand over his eyes and stifled a yawn; he was so fatigued that his entire body hurt in a way that he thought had finally left him days ago. "What are you doing here?" he asked wearily as Jenni helped him back into bed.

"I've been calling for days. No answer. No replies to my emails, texts or voicemails. So I called the university and they said you were on leave from teaching. Since you're supposed to be here because someone else is on leave, I figured something was wrong."

Grissom tugged at his blankets, frowning as he tried to think things through. He stifled a yawn, irritated with his mind for failing him under the onslaught of information and emotions the morning had borne.

"My phone," he said at last, looking around. "It's here somewhere."

"Right here," said Jenni, fishing the device out of the cabinet and handing it to him. Her pager beeped just as she placed it in his hand. "Oh, I've got to go. Are you ok for a while? Do you need anything?" she asked him, slipping an extra pillow behind his back.

"I'm fine thank you." He forced back another yawn as she left and swiped his thumb over the touch screen of the phone. Nothing happened. "It's dead," he muttered, thinking. "I haven't charged it since the day before Sara's birthday," he realized.

"That was twelve days ago," Greg said.

"So we've been here eleven days," concluded Gil. "I had no idea, I've totally lost track of time."

"We?" asked Greg. "Where's Sara?"

"In ICU," he yawned, losing his fight to stay awake. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, trying to force his eyes to stay open, "I need a nap, and I ca…" he trailed off, emitting a soft snore.

Feeling barely more at ease than he had earlier, Greg leaned back in the chair waiting for the nurse to return so he could ask her what was going on. After a long shift, and even longer journey across country though, his body had other ideas, and even with the best will in the world he too drifted off to sleep.

...

...

Please R&R, I love to hear your thoughts...


	37. Chapter 37

Greg was startled awake with abrupt harshness when Gil dropped his cane as he was getting back into bed after a trip to the bathroom.

"What the... oh," spluttered the younger man, recovering his bearings quickly. "Are you ok?" he asked, seeing his former boss struggling to reach down and pick up the offending item. Gil nodded, closing his fingers around the cold metal and hooking the handle over the bed rail before rolling onto his back, ribs protesting. He forced the pain out of his mind, fresh out of patience with hospitals, agony and his recent lack of independence. Breathing slowly and carefully, avoiding the too deep breaths that would aggregate his ribs further, he concentrated on Greg and recalling their earlier conversation.

"So where were we?" he asked.

"You were going to tell me about Sara and how the two of you ended up here." Greg got to his feet and filled two cups with water from the bathroom sink, handing one to Gil and draining the other himself before refilling it and sipping more slowly.

"Three of us," Gil corrected, after taking a sip to clear his throat of the remnants of sleep. "You are officially a godfather." He tried to say it with pleasure, but found the words twisted and darkened in his mouth.

"The baby's here? But its way too soon isn't it?"

"Yes," Gil's voice was hard, the anger he'd managed to repress for days was back now that he had someone to vent too. He passed his precious Polaroid collection over to Greg. "Rowen Emilia Anne was born on her mother's birthday by emergency caesarean. She's been in the neonatal unit ever since, with infant respiratory distress syndrome, various other premature baby problems and a heart condition that needs surgical intervention tomorrow."

He spoke bitterly, nearly spitting some of the hated words as he stared at the most recent picture of his baby girl. "Sara on the other hand, has a shattered leg and knee, a whiplash associated injury of the neck, a cerebral blood clot that is finally dissipating, and bruised lungs. Not to mention, the emergency surgery, the fact that the doctors had to remove her uterus because the impact caused a rupture that haemorrhaged and caused her lose nearly twice her own blood volume, and damage to the spleen. Oh, and now she has sepsis and pulmonary edema from foreign object penetrating trauma to her shoulder. She back on the ventilator for the third damn time, and sedated yet again in the ICU. Meanwhile, neither of us have even had the chance to so much as touch Rowen, let alone hold her and that bastard walked out of here, untouched."

He stopped, breathing heavily from shouting, his hands clenched so tightly in the blankets that his damaged shoulder was pounding and bolts of fiery lightning were shooting up into his skull. Jenni walked in with pain meds and lunch. She said nothing about the shouting, checked they were alright, and left, pulling the door to behind her, but not before giving Greg a small smile of gratitude.

Gil stared defiantly at his sandwich for a moment, before tearing it open and taking an angry bite with vicious voracity. They were quiet for a while as Gil worked his way through his lunch, and Greg pulled a granola bar and apple from his backpack, munching on his own snack, waiting. When Gil pushed the tray away and leant back into the pillows with a sigh, raking his hand through his already disordered hair, Greg refilled their cups again, used the facilities and settled back into the chair.

"Thank you," said Gil quietly, looking over at Greg. "I really needed someone to listen to me vent. It's so hard being stuck in here, unable to do the simplest things while I have no control over what's happening to Sara or Rowen. It's worse than sitting with Sara after the desert. They both need me, I can't be in two places at once, and I can't get out of bed for too long either because I've barely got more strength than an overcooked noodle."

"You're welcome," replied Greg. "So what happens next?" he asked, wanting to keep Grissom talking.

"Rowen has surgery in the morning, and we keeping waiting for Sara to respond to treatment." As he spoke, Gil looked for the monitor Joan had brought him. It was set aside, on top of the bedside cabinet where Jenni had placed it that morning when they went to visit the NICU. The connection had failed when she moved it, and Gil slid out of bed carefully to retrieve it. He set it on the rolling tray and switched it back on, walking carefully around the room while it booted up, stretching his legs.

"You need any help?" asked Greg, watching him warily.

"No thank you, my muscles are just stiff from the nap. I've only been walking about for a couple of days. It's taking some getting used to."

"What happened to your arm?"

"Multiple fractures to the shoulder, radius and ulna, a fracture of the anatomical neck of the humerus and some muscle tearing. Lots of titanium rods, pins and screws. What's bothering me the most is the rib fractures because they're limiting my movement and making it hard to move around comfortably."

"That's quite a list," sighed Greg, shaking his head. "Do you remember anything about the accident?"

"No, I had a serious concussion. Nausea, dizziness and vomiting for days when I woke up. I don't remember most of that either, but they tell me it's normal. That's part of the reason it has taken me so long to get up and about, it took days before I could sit for more than a few minutes without pain and dizziness overwhelming me."

"How much longer are they going to keep you here?"

"I have to be able to do a list of things for myself, and then as long as I have supervision I'm allowed to leave. Jenni thinks the doctors will let me out in a couple of days; she said I've been improving dramatically in the last seventy-two hours or so. To tell you the truth though, I'm not sure I want to leave yet. I don't like the thought of not being near Sara and Rowen. Plus, I haven't got anyone to stay with me."

"What about you mother?"

"She's on a three month combined mission and study tour in the Comoros with students from the Deaf university. The group has been fundraising for the last two years for the trip, and they only left three weeks ago."

"Have you spoken to her?"

"No, communication is difficult with the group, I honestly hadn't thought about it because my mind hasn't exactly been up to usual standards, and thinking about it now, I don't want to let her know. She's had this trip in the works for nearly four years, and she worries far too much. She doesn't handle stress very well, and I don't handle her handling stress well at all."

"Ok, what can I do to help?" asked Greg. Gil stared at him, feeling as though he had just been confronted by an alien.

"What?" Greg sighed; Grissom was more scrambled that he had ever seen, even after Sara walked out on their life in Vegas.

"Griss, I'm here to help. Whatever you need, I'm good for. Catherine thinks I took off to see my parents, but they cancelled at the last minute because they won some luxury cruise. For the next two weeks, I'm yours. Driver, cleaner, helper; whatever it takes. You guys are family to me."

Grissom gaped at him, struggling to catch up. "But," he finally managed. Greg held up a hand.

"No buts; I said I'm here to help. That's the end of it." Head spinning, Grissom smiled for what felt like the first time in an eternity.

"Ok," he nodded. "Thank you." Greg waved a hand and shook his head.

"Don't mention it."

"I mean it!"

"I know. Now, what do you need before they cut you loose? The sooner you're out of here, the more time you get to spend with your girl's right?"

"Yes. The list is on the counter over there." Greg picked up the paper and scanned it, making a list of mental notes.

"Alright, practicalities then; who's looking after your animals?"

"Candy," he answered, then paused. "No, Mariah is now, Candy went away to school. I was supposed to text her updates."

"I'll find your phone charger," promised Greg. "What about insurance company stuff?"

"I haven't heard anything."

"You'll probably have a bunch of messages in your voicemail," mused Greg. "What about the Prius?"

"Completely totalled; someone showed me a picture of it, but I don't remember who. I don't remember most of the first few days in here. It was impounded by the police as evidence; the driver killed another man so there will be a trial."

"What about the university?"

"I don't know. They sent me a card," replied Gil, pointing to the window sill. "I haven't heard anything else; I haven't been fit for visitors really."

"What about Sara's job?"

"Her boss has been in a few times; her only concern is that we recover our health. She's been keeping an eye on the cottage too, along with the vet Mariah," he looked around distractedly, fidgeting with the blankets. "They have my keys, but Sara's are around here somewhere, you should take them."

A few minutes later and Greg could tell Grissom was tiring. With a promise to be back later, he gathered his things and left just as Gil fell asleep again. In the hallway Jenni stopped him.

"Thank you for coming," she said quietly, "He really needed someone to listen to him."

"I could tell! I'm staying for a couple of weeks," he replied. Relief spread across the nurse's face.

"I'm glad to hear it; he's going to need a lot of help."

"Yeah, and he's not used to other people messing with his life. Well, I'll be back later. See you then."

…

The dogs greeted him ecstatically when he walked in, and only a quick game of rough and tumble in the yard convinced them to leave him alone long enough to get back inside and shut the door, leaving them to run off their energy. The place was neat and tidy; the vet had obviously taken care of the few necessary chores, but there was some cleaning to be done. With the dogs out of the way, Romeo and Juliet twined around him, lavishing attention on their visitor. He looked for the other cat; Socks was curled in the window, watching warily and refusing to get down and greet him. He opened the fridge and winced, shutting it just as quickly. Clearly no one had thought to empty out the perishables.

Still being mauled by cats, he made his way to the spare room and dumped his bag on the bed. It was much the same as the last time he'd been there, aside from the addition of various small pieces of partially unpacked baby gear and a beautiful oak rocking chair, upon which rested an open card. Picking it up, he scanned the National Geographic picture of Machu Pichu and frowned, wondering about the significance. Without really meaning to, he opened the card.

_Sara, memories are the fabric of life, woven by experience and desire. I am fortunate beyond measure to be able to share that process with you. Thank you for the best year of my life, and the promise that those to come will be even better. Happy Birthday, with all my love, Gil._

Feeling his heart pull, Greg carried the card into the family room and settled it on the mantle over the fire. Collapsing onto the sofa, he let out a deep, heavy sigh. Despite his worries, he had not envisioned the turmoil he had walked into earlier when he had departed Las Vegas after his shift. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out. A text from his mother; they were having a great time and wished he was with them. For a moment, so did he. He dropped the phone on the cushion beside him and looked up, his gaze falling on a framed photo of Sara and Grissom with a cockroach and a gold medal. Snorting with laughter, he pushed himself to his feet and went to clear out the fridge. Noticing the phone charger on the counter, he plugged in Grissom's dead cell and then took a deep breath before pulling open the refrigerator door. After all, rotten food had nothing on decomposing flesh.

…

Grissom was awake and alert when Greg returned.

"I'm going to visit Rowen in a few minutes, do you want to come?" he asked.

"I'd love to," grinned Greg. "Here," he handed Grissom his phone, "I charged this while you were sleeping, and I took these," he pulled out his own phone and showed Gil a series of quick photos he had snapped of the animals. "I thought you might like to see how they're doing."

"Thank you! Oh, Hank looks like he's getting fat!"

"Yeah, I noticed. I took them for a nice long walk, and nearly lost Lucy before I figured out not to let her off the leash." Grissom laughed, the sound almost a foreign concept to his ears.

"She's a monster for that; she's getting better, but she doesn't listen when she gets excited." Grissom handed Greg his phone back and then switched on his own. The welcome screen flashed up and then a series of beeps squealed intrusively.

"That's a lot of messages," whistled Greg.

"Fifty-seven; lots of them are from Candy."

"About twenty-five," said a voice from the doorway. "I was starting to get really worried!"

"I'm sorry," replied Gil, "my phone"

"Wasn't charged. Yeah, that occurred to me about two minutes ago. Where's Sara?"

"In ICU," said Grissom, his tone darkening instantly. He pointed the monitor out to Candy, who hurried over to it and gasped, hand flying to her mouth. Greg quietly explained Sara's deteriorated condition as Candy studied the monitor, tears forming in her eyes.

"Is she getting better?" she asked.

"No," said Gil flatly, "she's getting worse. She's resisting antibiotics and not breathing independently."

"What are they doing to help her?" Candy tugged a tissue from her pocket and swiped at her eyes.

"Everything they can. 'We just have to wait'," he replied bitterly. Tension blanketed the room, spreading to encompass every corner, nook and cranny as they trio watched the monitor as if something would suddenly happen. Sara remained prone, unconscious and intubated. No change, no improvement and nothing to celebrate.

…

"She's so tiny," marvelled Greg, instantly smitten with his godchild. "I love the hat! What colour are her eyes?"

"I don't know," replied Grissom softly, "I've never seen her open them."

"She's beautiful Griss, so perfect!" Looking over at the man he had admired for so many years, Greg saw a true smile and pure love in his face, replacing the detached scientific inquiry he was so used to seeing.

"I know," said Gil simply, his gaze fastened firmly to the tiny life in front of them. "That I do know."

…

Nine am rolled around all too quickly, and Grissom returned to his room after visiting Rowen and meeting one final time with Alice. Greg was sitting in the chair again when Jenni guided Gil back to bed. Candy was there too; she had found another chair somewhere, and was sprawled sideways across it, sketchbook on her lap and pencil pressed to the paper, but frozen and unmoving as she stared into space. The three of them settled in to wait out the surgery; the room was filled with tense silence as Gil watched the second hand on the clock move over and over again, one miniscule moment at a time. Deep in thought, he clutched a photograph from that morning in his fingers.

What wouldn't he give to have Sara with him right at this moment? If there was such a thing, he had no notion what it was. Thinking of Sara he felt his heart twist; she would be devastated to learn of everything that was happening. He wondered which would be worse for her, sitting here with him, agonizing over each and every millisecond, or waking up knowing she had been unable to bear the burden with him. He knew her, inside and out, and he knew she would hate that she had not been there to comfort him as he would her.

His eyes flickered over to the monitor and he felt tears gather in his eyes. During the night Sara's temperature had gone another half a degree to 104.9, where it was currently hovering on the edge of what he had been informed was life threatening. She was losing weight rapidly, and her blood pressure was so low the doctors had prescribed vasopressors to try and bring it back up again. The insulin was keeping her blood sugar just within the acceptable range, but the antibiotics were still barely making a difference.

Feeling a sharp, fleeting pain in his finger he looked down and realized he had crumpled the photograph without realizing it. Smoothing it out, he sucked a drop of blood from the paper cut in his index finger and stared at the image. A quick glance at the clock told him Rowen was anesthetised, and that Alice had performed the median sternotomy and was setting up the pulmonary bypass machine before stopping his daughter's heart. Unbidden, an image of the surgeon sawing through Rowen's sternum made his stomach reel; he rolled sideways just in time to heave his breakfast over the side of the bed. Gagging, he slithered out of bed and staggered into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

He leaned heavily against the wall, eyes closed and good arm pressed tightly to his face and he focused on slow, even breaths. When that didn't work, he turned on the shower and awkwardly stripped off his clothes. The hot water wasn't exactly soothing, but it did help him clear his mind a little and regain a small amount of emotional control. Sitting on the stool under the stream of water, surrounded by mounting clouds of steam he forced himself to breathe; it was going to be a very long day, he could not afford to go to pieces.

...

...

Thanks for your patience; I know I've been taking way too long with updates, but I can report that I am officially no longer an undergraduate, and as such am not responsible for all the time consuming evil academic writing that comes with the pleasure of education. It's time to celebrate, drink lots of tea and use this laptop for its real purpose. Ethereal Theory is _finally _going to get the attention it deserves. I have also, for anyone who is interested, started what will probably be a shorter, multi-chapter, slower going story for NCIS.

Thanks as always for reading, please take a moment to leave a review. Here's to what promises to be a great summer! Got Tea?


	38. Chapter 38

Candy stared at the pencil in her hand; all her life she had been comforted by the gentle scratch of graphite on paper, but at this precise moment in time, the object nestled gently between her fingers was unrecognizable.

Greg sat in the same position he had occupied for hours; his muscles were locked tight as he waited, counting the seconds in time with the clock ticking softly on the wall behind him.

Gil sat in bed, his gaze locked on a photo of Sara staring at Rowen sleeping in her purple beanie hat. He had lost track of time; what was the point of counting when the seconds stretched on into minutes, and then hours that were just drawn out into an unending eternity?

…

Alice strode into Grissom's room with a wide grin on her face; he looked up as she approached, but his face was blank and uncomprehending. He was so deeply lost in thought that Alice could see in his eyes the exact moment when comprehension dawned and hope transformed his deadened outlook.

"It was one hundred percent successful," she said without preamble. Greg and Candy, forgotten until that moment, leapt to their feet cheering and grabbed each other in a tight hug.

Gil's ears rang and he felt a wave of pressure in his sinuses that cleared as quickly as it came; he pinched the bridge of his nose and drew in several trembling breaths, ordering his emotions to control themselves.

"Shawna is settling her back in the NICU," Alice continued, smiling broadly as she fished a new Polaroid out of her pocket and handed it over with a flourish. "She did really well, the valve is completely repaired, the blood flow in normal and she's breathing better already."

"She's going to be alright?" he whispered.

"She's going to be fine!" Alice was ecstatic. "The surgery was totally effective, the only hiccup we had was at the end when we tried to get her off the bypass machine; it took a little while to get her heart going again, but everything is fine now."

"We'll go and see her as soon as Shawna calls and says it's ok," Jenni promised from the doorway, where she was leaning against the frame, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

…

He couldn't stop staring. Rowen was back in the incubator, the only place he had ever seen her, and she was still dwarfed by the leads, monitors and tubes cocooning her, but she looked so much better. Her skin had a pink tinge to it, a beautifully welcome change after the days of yellow jaundice. Her fists were clenched as she slept, the fingers of one hand firmly wrapped around the fabric of her butterfly beanie. The NICU staff, it seemed, were amused by his choice of profession, and had made a game of trying to find pretty, insect themed hats for the baby they joked wasn't much bigger than a bug herself.

Little Bug, as she had become known, was still very premature and underweight, with low blood sugar and blood pressure, but despite the persisting Infant Respiratory Distress Syndrome, was improving. Shawna showed him the monitors tracking oxygen saturation levels, and the steady improvement in the twenty-four hours since surgery.

"She's getting there," she said with a happy smile. "It's really just a waiting game now, while her lungs mature enough to handle breathing independently."

"How long will it take?" asked Gil, tracing a stenciled, smiley ant stuck to the side of the incubator. Over the last few days cartoon insects had been appearing as decoration surrounding Rowen. It warmed his heart, to know that so much care and love was involved in his daughter's treatment.

"That's a tough question," admitted Shawna. "She could be ventilated for several weeks." He nodded, but said nothing, quietly watching his child. He was becoming accustomed to the length of time it would take, and was reassured by the evident devotion of the NICU staff, enabling him to relax a lot more when it came to processing the mountains of medical information he digested daily.

He smiled as Rowen wiggled the toes of her left foot. The tape running the length of her breath bone was stark white in contrast to the healthier tone of her skin, hiding the incision site and the rows of sutures that had closed the wound up again. He noticed a new feeding tube and sighed internally; this was Rowen's other serious problem. Hypoglycemia, metabolic disturbances and gastrointestinal issues. Shawna had explained that Rowen was not absorbing nutrients as well as she might, and that was leading to various complications, including a lack of weight gain. It was a common theme with premature babies, she said, and was taking its time to resolve.

In the meantime, they had much to celebrate with the success of the mitral valve repair surgery. That Alice had not needed to replace the valve with a mechanical one was amazing news, Shawna continued, because it meant that Rowen would not need daily doses of Warfarin and constant blood tests for the rest of her life to minimize the risks of a fatal blood clot. Gil smiled happily at the news and continued to observe his baby girl. Despite having always considered himself a patient man, he was beginning to develop a serious appreciation for the extreme endurance of the hospital staff, and their ability to celebrate any milestone, no matter how far reaching or seemingly insignificant. One step at a time, he thought. Just like with the hare and the turtle, slow and steady wins the race.

…

He left the NICU with a renewed sense of hope and confidence. Jenni walked beside him, but not helping him, as they ambled back to his room.

"What happened to Greg and Candy this morning?" she asked, not having seen the duo who had practically taken up residence at the hospital in the last couple of days.

"Candy went back to university last night; she has classes the rest of the week. I think Greg is sleeping in; he works the nightshift, so all this day walking must have worn him out," guessed Grissom, one hand wrapped firmly around his cane as he concentrated on steady, even steps. "He also has some errands to take care of this morning." Jenni's pager beeped as they negotiated a corner, and she put a hand out to stop him.

"That was ICU," she said when he frowned at her. "We need to go over there now."

…

"What's going on?" demanded Gil when they arrived at Sara's bedside. It was vastly different from the last time he'd been there, only a few short hours ago. She was back in an isolated room, in a bid to keep exposure to bacteria to an absolute minimum. Activity bustled around as Doctor Freya Blackman drew him aside. She was a tall woman, well over six feet, and athletically built. She had wide gray eyes and a penetrating stare that was as much kindness as it was honesty.

"Sara's fever has climbed to 107.1," Freya wasn't the type of person to waste time, especially in a pressured situation. "She's at risk of long term brain damage. If it gets any higher, it will likely kill her." Grissom stared at her, feeling the cliff under his toes crumbling away.

"So what are you doing?" he asked, digging in his toes in defiance, refusing to pitch forward into the abyss.

"We're using hemodialysis to cool her blood directly." He blinked, not having expected that.

"Like kidney failure patients?"

"Yes, precisely. The machine draws the blood from her body, in this case cools it, and replaces it back into her system. Every fifteen minutes or so her entire blood volume will cycle through the machine."

"What if it doesn't work?" he wanted to know. Freya regarded him carefully; she had followed the entire family's treatment over the last two weeks, and had complex in-depth conversations with this man on a daily basis about the care of his wife. She was well aware that his medical knowledge was broad for someone not educated or employed in the trade.

"We're running out of options," she said finally, choosing her words carefully. "Perhaps you would like to stay here with her? Speak with her, comfort her, tell her that you love her." Grissom was not a doctor, but he had no trouble reading between her lines.

"How long?" he asked, clenching his walking stick in his good hand.

"A matter of hours," Freya was honest, her tone as gentle as possible, "If the fever does not come down and the infection does not respond to the antibiotics."

…

He sat in a chair pushed right against the side of the bed. Jenni had fetched pillows, propping them around him with her usual ease and care, but her cheerful chatter and smiles were absent, banished by the gravity of the situation.

He kept Sara's hand in his, fingers slowly moving over hers as he sat quietly, studying her. Her skin burned to the touch, and looked as though it would crumble away under pressure. Her lips were dry and cracked; she was so pale and still she could have been a statue carved from alabaster. He observed the white gauze covering her infected shoulder; a tube burrowed under the layers of wrapping, connected to the drain inserted by Doctor Blackman.

The nurses had done away with a gown; instead Sara was covered with a blue sheet for modesty, pulled up over her chest with her arms resting on top. The back of one hand was covered in bruises where the IV port disappeared under her skin. Further up her arm, two tubes vanished into a vein near her elbow; both were bright red with blood, one flowing out of her body, the other back in. Across from him, the dialysis machine hummed and whirred, sucking, cooling and pumping blood dispassionately. It was a hulking thing, imposing in its height and meaning, and he could not help comparing it with the ventilator, which at least had the impression of helping Sara's body sustain life.

He ran a gentle finger over her collar bone; it stood out sharply, just visible at the edge of the neck brace, a reminder of the weight she was losing to the dehydration and lack of nutrient absorption. He could see the same effect clearly in her good shoulder, the bone clearly evident under the reduced muscle mass, as well as her elbows, wrists and hands. He suddenly remembered the last appointment with Doctor Lenoir, she had assured them all was well with their baby, but encouraged Sara to try and gain a little more weight. Narrowing his eyes slightly he wondered what she would say now.

The blood pressure cuff hummed into life, measuring another of its frequent checks and he lifted his gaze to the monitor as it deflated, noting the same number as before. At least the vasopressors were holding her BP steady, even if at the lower end of what Freya called 'acceptable for now.' He moved his gaze to the respiratory numbers, which still frightened him despite the lack of change, good or bad, over the last couple of days. He supposed he should be grateful her oxygen saturation levels hadn't fallen, but nowhere in his soul could he find the effort or desire to celebrate the continuity. He wanted improvement, not enthusiasm that something wasn't getting worse, when everything else seemed to be crumbling away.

Transferring her hand to his injured one, he reached out and stroked her cheek, his thumb running over her eyebrow and very gently over her closed eye. He leaned forward against the mattress and pressed a lingering kiss to her temple before resting his head next to hers.

"You can't go," he murmured in her ear. "You can't leave me; we made a promise to each other when we married, remember? That we would have our own forever? We haven't had that yet Sara, and there's a tiny little girl on the next floor who is part of that forever now too. She deserves it just as much as we do."

He closed his eyes, head resting against hers, and brought their joined hands up to his lips, kissing her fingers just as he had a thousand times before. For a while he would just stay there, imagining their life together, and how they would raise Rowen, just as they had talked so endlessly about in the last few weeks. He refused to think of the alternative, instead telling Sara all about Rowen's surgery and subsequent improvement during the last two days. He spoke quietly and at length, whispering right into her ear, keeping his eyes closed and the surrounding machinery at bay. For now, it was just the two of them in their own private world.

He must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing he was aware of was the clench of Sara's hand in his. For a split second his heart leapt, and he threw himself upright, barely even registering the roar of protest from his ribs. As quickly as the pressure on his fingers came, it was gone again and Sara lay as frozen as she had before.

He had only moments to wonder if she was waking, before the illusion shattered around him. Sara began to convulse, her muscles contracting and relaxing violently and he was knocked aside, sliding back into his chair with a thud. Eyes wild with fear, he slammed his hand repeatedly down on the call button, not even aware he was on his feet yelling for Freya.

...

...

Ok, I know its kind of short, but it was majorly emotionally taxing! Resolution in the next chapter, I promise. Love those reviews :)


	39. Chapter 39

"Lorazepram," ordered Freya, her gaze on the monitors as Gil stood pressed against the wall, sidelined as the professionals waded in to help Sara.

"Her lungs are compromised," argued one of the nurses. Freya spun to glare at her and the nurse shrank away in discomfort.

"She's already ventilated," Freya was remarkably calm, despite the urgency of the situation and opposition from her subordinate. She injected the drug into the IV port and stood back slightly, scribbling notes before turning to talk to Gil.

"Why did this happen?" he asked, not even realizing he was clutching his inured arm protectively against his chest.

"Probably because of the fever," she replied, taking in his gray pallor and the slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, as well as they stiffness of his posture and the grimace of pain marring his face. "When was your last dose of pain meds?" she asked him, reaching to take his pulse.

"No idea," he replied, distractedly. "What happens now?" he wanted to know, eyes on Sara who was still seizing.

"If there's no effect in ten minutes, we give her another dose, and if that doesn't work, I'm calling the anesthesiologist down here to change the level of sedation." Freya moved across the room and picked up the phone, calling up to Grissom's ward to enquire about pain killers, receiving a promise from Joan to be down in a minute.

…

Two doses of Lorazepram turned out to be sufficient, and calm returned to the room. Joan appeared bearing the promised pain relief and dinner. She said nothing about him returning to his bed, instead tucking blankets around him and leaving again with a gentle hand on his shoulder and an understanding nod.

As the sun slipped below the horizon and night fell, Gil stayed in the chair, Sara's hand in his, dozing on and off, never really sleeping or waking, just lost in the in-between world of semi consciousness. Nurses bustled about their business and doctors came and went, measurements were taken, exams conducted and reactions monitored; all testament to the twenty-four hour nature of the hospital business and its unending demands of round the clock patient care. The hours wore on gradually, and Gil found himself laying his head down next to Sara again, his back twisted at an impossible angle so he could press his lips to her temple. His eyes closed as he drank in her warmth and proximity, eventually succumbing, in the early hours of predawn haziness, to something akin to real slumber.

…

Greg spent the evening in the hallway outside the ICU. Having spent the majority of the day calling insurance companies, the university, the local police department and more, he had arrived late in the afternoon to disaster. Jenni, about to go off shift, had filled him in and left, tears in her eyes. They wouldn't let him in the room, so he stood outside, watching the seventeen terrifying minutes of convulsions and then, as Sara settled back down, alternating between laying along the length of a row of chairs, and getting back up to peer through the window again.

Around seven he woke with a crick in his neck and a craving for coffee. A quick check on Griss and Sara told him they were both still sleeping, so he drove back to the cottage to shower, walk the dogs and feed the menagerie. He sat at the kitchen table waiting for the coffee to brew, munching his way through a bowl of cereal and watching the fish swim circles around its plant. Last time he'd been here, he had seen Sara sit for half an hour watching her fish, entranced by the tranquil nature of its lazy swimming. He had to admit, Shakespeare was pretty, and very calming to watch. It was too bad he couldn't take the fish and put him in Grissom's room, he mused. His former boss could certainly use help relaxing. His moment was shattered when Juliet scrambled up beside him and stuck her nose in his bowl, intent on stealing the milk.

"Hey you," he scolded, "get down or I'll get accused of letting you develop bad habits." The cat sat back and looked up at him, the very picture of a sad, pitiful, deprived little thing.

…

Gil sat up and let out a loud groan before he could stop himself. All of his muscles were stiff and sore, and his head was fuzzy. He may have slept a little, but in no way had it been restful.

"Here," said a gentle voice, and a cup of something steaming hot was pressed into his hands. He took a tentative sip and sighed in gratitude, blinking blearily as he focused his gaze. Freya was back on shift, as was Jenni, who had given him the tea. She also had his morning medication cocktail and breakfast.

"What time is it?" he croaked.

"A little after nine," she replied. "Look," she pointed to the monitors. He squinted at the numbers, suppressing a yawn and then gasped. Sara's temperature had fallen to 103.2. His gaze swiveled to his wife, who appeared to be peacefully sleeping, and then to Freya, who grinned at him.

"It worked," she practically crowed. "The fever is still falling, though it has slowed a little in the last couple of hours, but the antibiotics have taken hold. There's slight improvement in her oxygen saturation, and we're giving her less insulin to combat the hyperglycemia." He stared at her, speechless. Jenni smiled at him, bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement before giving him a gentle one armed congratulatory hug.

"I told you she would fight," she said.

"I agree," nodded Freya, "Sara dear, you are one tough lady." She turned to Gil. "The respiratory team will be back later, to assess her progress and determine any changes in treatment."

"I'll be here," he promised.

"Yes," agreed Jenni, "but in the meantime, you have a meeting of your own with physical and occupational therapy to evaluate where you're at in terms of your freedom. So, eat up and I'll be back in half an hour or so to get you. You need a shower and shave; Thistle is coming to see you as well!" Grissom gawked at her sudden bossiness. She laughed and pointed at his breakfast.

"Gil, as pleasurable as it's been looking after you, I'd like to see you get out of here," she told him. Freya chuckled at his expression.

"I'd like to transfer Sara up to Jenni's care in a couple of days or so," she told him. "Once her fever is gone and she's off the ventilator."

"Thank you," he murmured, overcome with gratitude, "both of you, for everything." Jenni rolled her eyes and handed him a spoon. Freya turned back to Sara, walking through the remainder of her morning checklist, a smile shining in her eyes.

…

"Grissom, good morning!" Thistle swept into his room and nodded approvingly at the sight of him washed, dressed and sitting in a chair with a crossword on his lap.

"Hello," he replied. "This is Greg, he's here visiting and helping out for a couple of weeks," as he spoke he indicated his friend, sprawled in a chair on the other side of the room. Greg raised a hand, waved, and promptly went back to his nap.

"Very good," approved Thistle. "Now, let's see that shoulder. The last set of images looked excellent." She watched with a hawk's eye as he removed the sling himself and then slid one arm out of his zip up hoody. She poked, prodded and manipulated, her long fingers probing for any sign of trouble.

"Excellent," she said at last. "The wounds have healed beautifully; I would expect the scars to fade within a year. You can forgo any bandaging now, but I want you to wear this at all times." She produced a new sling which fastened diagonally across his chest as well as around his waist, providing more support. She demonstrated how to put it on, adjusting the straps patiently until she was satisfied with a perfect fit, and then made him put it on and take it off twice, until she was satisfied with his ability.

"Very good, I'll see you again in six weeks to check your progress. I dare say I shall see you in the meantime though, in relation to Sara's care." He nodded, slightly startled, having forgotten in the wake of all the drama of the last few days that Thistle had operated on Sara also.

"I can't tell you how glad I was to hear this morning how much better she's doing," she said kindly.

"Thank you," smiled Gil. "Me too."

"And Little Bug," continued the surgeon, a look of fondness on her face. "I went to see her last night at the end of my shift, she's absolutely adorable." Gil gaped at her and she laughed.

"Nearly all of the staff here are following the story of your family," she explained. "It's an unusual situation; there are a lot of people rooting for your recovery."

"I don't know what to say," he murmured, touched. Thistle put a hand on his good shoulder, her penetrating gaze settling on his.

"You don't have to say anything," she said. "We do this because we care, and because the biggest reward any of us could ever hope for is to see our patients go home happy and healthy."

Moments later he watched her walk out, feeling a tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with mending ribs.

…

An hour later he was waiting impatiently for the physical and occupational therapists to leave so he could go and visit Rowen, and then Sara. Greg, now awake and fully refreshed, watched with amusement as Grissom squirmed in his chair while the two women sent to assess him chattered and scribbled on clipboards. When they left, he sighed loudly in frustration, anxious to get to the NICU.

"Want to sneak out?" asked Greg, feeling sorry for him. Grissom nodded and together they sidled out of the room and down the hallway; passing the nurses' station Greg mouthed their destination to Hannah behind the desk, with whom he'd had several conversations in the last few days. She winked and nodded, struggling not to grin at the determined look on Gil's face.

When they arrived, Alice was talking to Shawna; both women looked up at the same time and nodded greetings.

"Is everything alright?" Grissom asked as soon as they were within earshot.

"Absolutely," answered Alice. "I'm actually up here to speak with another patient's parents. I just had a quick look at Little Bug, and she's doing great." She spoke with them for a couple of minutes, and then excused herself to her meeting. Shawna filled them in on a couple of small changes, all signs of improvement, and left them to sit with Rowen.

"Hey Little Bug," cooed Greg, his fingers on the plastic.

"Not you too," sighed Gil. Greg glanced over at him.

"It's very catchy, and very apt," he shrugged. "She is your daughter, and she's so tiny I have to agree with them. She looks like a Little Bug."

Grissom studied Rowen, considering. Today she had on a white cap with a rainbow of happy ants crawling around the fabric. Maybe they were right, he mused, feeling the name grow on him.

The two of them lingered over the incubator for a long time, chatting softly, or sitting in companionable silence, imagining what the future held, until Greg glanced at his watch.

"Griss, we should head back. It's lunch time, and Jenni will be mad if you don't eat." With a sigh, Gil pushed himself out of his chair and they trudged back to his ward. Jenni saw them coming and stood with her hands on her hips, her lips pursed disapprovingly at his escape. He smiled contritely and slid past her into the room.

"How was Little Bug today?" she asked, following him and watching as he sat down and began to eat his lunch. Greg snorted with laughter at her use of the nickname, and Grissom shot him a look.

"She's doing ok," said Greg as Gil chewed a mouthful. "Shawna and Alice are happy with her progress."

"Good," Jenni was pleased. "I have more news," she continued, still looking at Grissom. "You get to go home tomorrow."

"All right," cheered Greg. Gil swallowed and smiled happily.

"Finally! No offense," he glanced at Jenni, "but I was starting to get sick of this room."

"None taken; I'll be glad to see you go! It means I've done my job right." She turned to Greg and began to give him a list of instructions about everything he would need to know and do.

…

That evening he sat with Sara again, staying beside her with her hand in his long after Greg had gone back to the cottage. His thumb made idle circles on the back of her hand as he spoke softly about the day. Her skin was much cooler to the touch now; during the day her fever had continued to drop to the present 101.9 and the dialysis machine had been removed, leaving only two small dressings on her arm where the needles had been as a reminder. One of the nurses had given her a sponge bath and applied moisturizer to her dry skin. She was still sedated, and ventilated, but the room held a much calmer atmosphere and outlook. For the first time in days he felt peaceful and able to relax, knowing imminent disaster wasn't lurking around the corner. He simply sat, enjoying her presence and the lack of fear. It was well after eleven when Joan came to shoo him back to his own bed. With the crises averted, she told him, it was high time he had a decent night's sleep.

…

Ten am rolled around briskly, despite his colorful dreams and constant waking to check the time. The promise of freedom, and the ability to visit his girls as he pleased was inducing fervent impatience. Greg leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest as he listened to Jenni lecture Grissom yet again on the do's and don'ts of his release. Finally the discharge paperwork was presented and signed, and prescriptions handed over, along with the standard post hospitalization care sheets and injury specific take home information. Above all else, he was told, rest was the key to recovery.

Walking out of the room felt strange, as though a binding of some sort had just been stripped away. The first stop was the NICU, to sit with Rowen and daydream about what it would feel like the first time he and Sara were able to hold her. He watched her sleep, studying the tiny complexity of her perfect fingers and toes, right down to the minute nails and clenched knuckles.

They sat with Sara next, telling her about his release, and the promise that she would soon be moved back into Jenni's care again. They spent the day alternating back and forth between his girls, and Gil found himself longing for the moment when the three of them could finally all just be in the same room together.

It was shortly after seven before Greg was able to convince Grissom it was time to go home for the evening; he could tell exhaustion was setting in from the slight tremor of Griss' fingers and the way his shoulders hunched forward. With resignation, Gil agreed, kissed Sara on the cheek, and followed him out to the car. Stepping out into the warm evening however, he paused, looking around.

"What's wrong?" asked Greg, concerned. Grissom stared at him for a moment, and then shook his head.

"Nothing; I was just thinking that it's been fourteen days and something like eleven hours since the last time I was outside. It feels strange. I'd forgotten what a breeze feels like on my face, and what summer smells like."

…

By the time they made it home Gil was truly drained and ready to sleep for an eternity. Walking through the doorway he was assaulted by the feeling of what life was supposed to be like. The comforts of the cottage, and the hints of their marriage that were spread around in the little accents Sara had added here and there, like framed photographs and plants decorating the surfaces. He caught a glimpse of Socks curled on the sofa but then his senses were impaired by the thunder of paws on the floor and the hysterical barking of two overexcited dogs.

He negotiated his way into a chair, and leaned forward to greet them both. Hank stuck his nose straight into his hand in glee, craving an ear rub. Lucy, absolutely beside herself, climbed up onto the chair and into his lap, sniffing him from top to toe. He laughed and wrapped an arm over her back and around her chest, holding her firmly to stop her moving and make petting her easier. Her tail wagged madly, thumping his back over and over. Hank shuffled as close as possible and dropped his head down on Gil's knee, staring up at him in that way only a dog can stare at its favorite person.

Eventually Greg shooed the pair of them out into the garden in order to give Grissom a chance to breathe. When he returned, he found Romeo and Juliet had taken up the assault instead. Romeo was perched on his good shoulder, paws on Grissom's head, sniffing his hair, and Juliet's back legs were balanced on the chair arm while the rest over her had vanished inside the sling. Greg roared with laughter and pulled out his phone, snapping a photo of the chaos before heading to the kitchen to get some dinner.

Mrs. Wallis, the neighbor who's truck Sara had fixed on their first day in New Hampshire, had been following Gil and Sara's progress through Greg and, upon hearing of Grissom's return home, had gone into culinary overdrive, filling the refrigerator with home cooked readymade meals and snacks. Greg heated two bowls of pasta bake and slices of frozen garlic bread and carried them through into the family room, where Grissom had managed to coax Socks over to sniff his fingers.

They ate quietly and then Grissom excused himself to go to bed.

"Nope, not yet," insisted Greg. He rooted in the bag they had brought home with them and pulled out several bottles. "Meds first," he ordered. Grissom's eyebrows rose.

"I told you I was here to help you," smirked Greg. "That includes looking after you if needs be." Grissom opened his mouth to protest then shut it, thanked Greg and took the offered pills before bidding the young man goodnight and retreating to his room. He showered slowly, washing away the hospital and the pain and indignities of treatment, not emerging until he felt much more like himself. He stared into the mirror, studying his reflection with a frown.

He looked much the same, and wondered if he had expected something else. He needed a haircut, and the bone deep exhaustion he felt was clearly evident. There was something else though; his eyes were the giveaway, he decided. They told a story of emotional upheaval and vast change in a man who had resisted change for so long. They spoke of loss, sorrow and struggle. There were hints of pain and worry, of enduring despair. But there was also love; an overwhelming desire to love and be loved.

Overcome with exhaustion and emotion, he slid into bed and pulled Sara's pillow to his chest. Though neither of them had slept in the bed for two weeks, he breathed the scent of her deep into his lungs and pressed his face to the fabric, his eyes squeezed shut at the sudden onslaught of tears. He made no effort to stop them, instead letting the last two weeks roll away from him, cleansing his soul as the shower had his body. When the last drop of emotion left him, he slept; a deep and dreamless sleep, the kind that restored the body and refreshed the mind.

...

...

So Sara's on the mend...

Please, R&R

hugs, Got Tea?


	40. Chapter 40

Three days after Grissom's discharge, Sara's fever was completely gone and her lungs were working sufficiently well that Freya removed the ventilator and switched her to a nasal cannula. The bruising was still there, but was finally healing and the edema had cleared up well, allowing a substantial rise in blood oxygen levels. Jenni's friends who had helped get Sara to the NICU days ago now, returned and moved her to a single room opposite the one Gil had occupied.

With the infection beaten back to only remnants of its former self, and the vasopressors discarded as Sara's blood pressure rose slowly back to near its normal rate, Freya had eased up on the sedatives, happy that Sara was progressing well. Gil sat in a chair by her side, her hand in his, as he chatted with Greg.

They had been waiting hours for Sara to wake up; something Freya had assured them Sara would do in her own time. A couple of times they had thought she was on the brink of opening her eyes, but she had merely sighed and kept on sleeping. Gil was wondering if she would continue to do so forever when he felt pressure on his hand. In a flash he was on his feet, staring down at her.

He squeezed back lightly, and brought her fingers to his lips.

"Hey," he murmured as she blinked at him.

"Gil," she mumbled sleepily, "you found me."

"What do you mean honey?" he asked, confused as he leant over to kiss her forehead.

"The car… it was so hot… the rocks were burning my hands…" Sara struggled to open her eyes again, managing to hold his gaze only for a couple of seconds before she began to slide back into oblivion.

"I knew you would find me," she sighed confidently, her grip on his hand becoming lax. "Did you follow the rocks?"

"Sara, what are you talking about?" he wanted to know, hoping she would stay awake for a few moments longer.

"Did you find her too?" she asked, her words slurring together.

"Find who honey?"

"Natalie."

His chest felt impossibly tight, as though someone had just swung an iron bat into his lungs, knocking any semblance of air out way of reach. Questions swarmed in his mind, fighting to be asked first, but it was pointless; Sara was fast asleep again and far from coherent even if he was able to wake her up again.

"Did she really just ask what I thought she asked?" whispered Greg. Grissom sucked in a deep lungful of air, his mind reeling. Sara's hand was still clutched in his; he dropped it as though he'd been scalded and stabbed the call button, summoning a nurse.

"Grissom, what's up?" asked Jenni moments later as she walked in.

"Sara… she… I… it was…" he stammered. Jenni's eyes widened.

"Ok, take a breath and relax," she soothed, concern etched across her features. Start at the beginning and tell me what happened. Did she wake up?"

"Yes," replied Greg, forcing the word out as he stared at his best friend's sleeping form, horrified.

"What happened? Did she say anything?" Jenni looked from one face to the other in between checking the monitors.

"She…" began Greg, but he trailed off, shaking his head at his inability to continue.

"Grissom?" Jenni turned to look at him and felt unease spread through her body. "Grissom, talk to me," she urged. His gaze swiveled from his inert wife to the nurse he now knew so well; his hands shook as he licked his lips and tried to force his suddenly tied tongue to cooperate.

"She said she knew I'd find her," he said slowly as his stomach rolled and his head spun. He put a hand to his face, pressing his thumb and middle finger to the edges of his eyes. "She asked if we found…" He couldn't make himself say her name and stopped, dropping his hand and sinking heavily back into his chair.

"She thinks this is over four years ago," he finally uttered, before leaning forward and covering his eyes with his hand.

…

It took Jenni about five seconds to realize that whatever had happened over four years ago had been a pivotal moment in Grissom and Sara's lives. Greg's too, she thought, judging from the expression on his face and the defeated slump of his posture. It took another five seconds to realize both men were rapidly falling into despair, and then finally another five to realize she need to do something fast.

Stepping a little closer she snapped her fingers to get their attention.

"Hey, come back to me for a moment guys," she demanded, parking her hands on her hips and waiting until she had their full attention, however bleak it was at that moment. "First of all, let's try and remain calm ok?" she waited for them to nod miserably.

"Alright, second; Sara woke up, that's a huge step! Third, and there's a couple of things to note here, she's got great vital signs, look at the monitors with me… there we go… and they're improving steadily! Now, forth and most importantly so pay attention to me when I say this boys; she's been sedated for days! Her body has been through hell, her mind may just be taking its time to catch up! Grissom, you've seen the results of the CAT scan they did a couple of days ago; there was no damage visible from either the trauma or the fever. Think back to when you were waking up from your concussion and remember this, she's had about twice that, plus all the extra stuff in the last few days. Before you start panicking unnecessarily, it may just take her a while to catch up with the present. You're writing her off before she's even properly conscious."

Grissom gaped at her, his mouth opening and shutting rapidly several times as he tried not to splutter in outrage. Jenni smiled gently, glad to have him back.

"There we go," she nodded. "I know you've both got more than your fair share of brains, so how about you use them rather than letting panic take over, hmm?" She put a comforting hand on Grissom's shoulder.

"I'm not saying there won't be any after effects from all she's been through," she said kindly, sitting on the edge of the bed next to his chair. "But all the testing they've done so far has come up negative. Once she's awake and alert they can assess her some more."

"She's right Griss," sighed Greg, letting out a long sigh and relaxing back in his chair. Resigned, Grissom nodded, fingers steepled together in front of his face.

"If she can't remember the last few years," he said slowly, "She won't remember that we're married." Jenni glanced at Greg, wondering what to say.

"Stop thinking so hard," said Greg abruptly. "Sara's not even awake yet. Take Jenni's advice; she's the expert. I'm going to find some food." He stood and walked out, Jenni trailing after him. In the hallway she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"What happened four years ago?" she asked.

"A psychotic serial killer and a red mustang in the desert," he replied with a sigh. "Google Sara Sidle and you find everything you could ever want to know. Just don't bring it up with either of them; it took all of us a long time to get past it."

…

Greg paced outside the cafeteria, trying with every ounce of effort he could muster not to freak out. Sara would be fine, he repeated to himself, over and over again. A nurse dodged by him and he made himself stop, leaning against the wall. He was not allowed to go to pieces; that was Grissom's job! He was here to maintain the calm, and the positive outlook. Closing his eyes he took deep breaths while convincing himself that he was not going to freak out, and then pushed open the door to get the promised rations. His father had always said he was a perpetually stuck in adolescence; if he could just see me now, thought Greg with a sigh.

…

Alone in the room with only his sleeping wife and his racing mind for company, Grissom went to stand at the window. He stared out through the glass, seeing nothing as his thoughts overpowered everything else. Chief among them was the abject terror that Sara was going to wake and think she had just physically survived the desert but mentally lost herself along the way.

His mind ran over the hundreds of phone calls after she left Vegas; he thought of the claustrophobia and the nightmares and felt physically sick for the first time in days. This was not a possibility he had considered the night he sat holding her hand as the fever slowly killed her. When he had whispered in her ear that they still had a promise to fulfill, he hadn't spared a thought for what surviving might do to her.

The physical toll was clear; best rest would be the order of business for weeks to recover from the hysterectomy and internal trauma and then physical therapy to help rebuild strength in her muscles once the broken bones healed. Alice had been to see her that morning; the knee surgery would have to wait, she had decided. Sara's leg needed to heal first. Without the ability to follow the intensive post-surgery rehabilitation the grafts required to restore range of movement, prevent scar tissue from building, shape joint flexibility and rebuild muscle tone, the outcome of surgery would not be successful. The rehabilitation process would be slowed and drawn out anyway, as the entire leg was involved, not just the damaged knee.

"The bones first," Thistle had said kindly. "Once those are healed, we can work on the rest."

His thoughts swirled as he considered in detail, for the first time, what it must feel like to wake in a mental place as confused, terrified and dark as Sara had after the desert. He had done his best to help her, not understanding at the time just how deep the wounds ran. The separation hadn't helped; working opposite shifts they had few precious hours together where once they had shared nearly all of their time.

When she left, his life had become a vacuum. He understood her motivations, and supported her, but felt his entire existence beginning to crumble around him. For a man who had once thrived on solitude, he found his life had become so ingrained with hers, their coexistence so intertwined, that he had forgotten how to function alone.

Time had healed those wounds, and then soothed away the scars. They had built something together that he had spent decades thinking was a lost cause. He had never been as happy in his life as he had been in the past couple of years, especially the last few months. His entire life he had observed people around him marrying and raising families; sometimes the results were disastrous, as his career had proved time and again, but sometimes they were exceptional.

He had thought, when he came home from Peru and the doctor showed them that image of their baby, that this time it was finally their turn. That after all the years of crime fighting, pain and sacrifice, they had paid a debt to society and were being awarded that chance of domestic tranquility.

His mood darker than it had ever been in his life, he moved to Sara's bedside and stared down at her. She was exceptionally pale, even by her usual standards, and her muscles were visibly weakened. Freya had warned him that the weight loss caused by the fever would make her weak, and building up her strength again would be a priority once she was awake. He reached into the drawer beside the bed and drew out the lip balm he had brought from home; Sara hated having chapped lips, and the combination of the dry hospital air and the tubes that had been secured in her throat had left them raw and cracked. He kissed her gently, and then smoothed the salve tenderly over her skin before slipping back into his chair and cradling her hand in his.

…

The atmosphere in the room as the afternoon wore on gnawed at Greg like an infected wound coated in salt. He finally excused himself, saying he would drive back to the cottage to walk the dogs, and then pick Grissom up later. Gil nodded absently, too lost in his depressive thoughts to pay much attention. He had been to visit Rowen, wondering how to explain to the baby that her mother might not recognize her. He had sat for long minutes, mulling over the question in silence before realizing the folly of his thoughts; Rowen wouldn't understand him. Her thought processes weren't anywhere near adept enough to understand the concept of parents yet. Shaking his head in disgust, he told her that he loved her, and returned to Sara, sitting once again in quiet solitude, waiting.

…

There was a rustle beside him, and he opened bleary eyes, his mind hazy and a little confused from a nap.

"Gil," mumbled a weary voice. He was on his feet in a second, feeling Sara's hand squeeze his fingers weakly.

"I'm here," he murmured, sitting by her hip and leaning down to kiss her forehead. She stared at him, exhausted and in pain, but with eyes that were clear and focused for the first time in days.

"How's Rowen?" she rasped, her throat raw. Tears burned in his eyes and he shifted, resting his head against hers. Something in his chest cracked, and with a deep breath he felt the impossibly heavy blanket of anxiety surrounding him crumble into dust.

"She's fine," he promised, trembling heavily with relief and emotional fatigue. "She's going to be fine."

…

Jenni stared at the computer screen feeling sick. No wonder Grissom had freaked out when he thought Sara's memory was stuck four years in the past. The press had managed to get hold of police photos of the crushed red mustang as it was hauled out of the ground, printing them side by side with the booking image of Natalie Davis in all her creepy psychotic glory.

Details assaulted her brain as she read the tawdry article entitled _Rescued from the Brink of Death; Las Vegas CSI abducted by serial killer hikes miles through desert before being found by colleagues._

"Damn," she mumbled to herself, shivering at the newspaper's eerie recitation of the story surrounding the final show down with the miniature killer.

"What're you looking at?" asked Lena, walking into the living room and stopping behind Jenni, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"That's your patient?" she asked, skin crawling as she took in the image of Natalie. Jenni shook her head and scrolled back up to a photo of Sara at a crime scene.

"No, this is. That's the woman who tried to kill her. God what a day Len," she sighed.

"What's wrong?" asked Lena, kneading her shoulders soothingly.

"She woke up late this morning, and her husband- Grissom- freaked out because he thought she'd lost her memory and thought she was waking up after this."

"Has she?"

"No! Her cognitive abilities are excellent considering. She doesn't remember anything from the accident, and she said she only has flashes from before the fever. She was even arguing with the doctor about visiting her daughter, right before she fell asleep again. It was pretty incredible considering."

"She sounds determined," smiled Lena, studying the photo of Sara frowning in consideration at something caught between the tweezers in her grasp.

"Both Grissom and Greg said she's the most stubborn person they've ever met. Tomorrow morning we're going to take her to the NICU."

"I bet you can't wait for that," mused Lena, who had followed the story of Jenni's patients along with the rest of the hospital staff.

"I really can't," she smiled, her heart lifting.

...

...

Wow, I can't believe this story is 40 chapters in and still going strong. Many many thanks to all those still enjoying it and taking the time to let me know.

Please keep sending me those reviews; I love them and treasure them.

Happy reading,

Got Tea?


	41. Chapter 41

Sara slept for hours at a time, her reserves thoroughly depleted by the fever. For the first couple of days it seemed to Grissom that for every five minutes she was awake, she needed an hour of sleep to recover. She was still on heavy duty pain medication, and as a result, when she woke she was definitely cognizant of those around her and the situation, but at the same time she was a little inebriated, often slurring or tripping over her words and unable to focus on details for more than a moment or too.

Had anyone asked him though, Gil would not have cared one whit because, in a clear and lucid moment, she had smiled at him. The day after she awoke Jenni, Thistle, Freya and Shawna arranged another trip to the NICU, putting it all in place so that when Sara stirred from her latest nap she was already in position to see her baby. The staff had agreed that moving her while she was still asleep would be best, rather than exhausting her further before she even arrived. The look on Sara's face when her eyes focused and cognition dawned across her face had melted Grissom's heart. She hadn't said a word, but her eyes had sought his and her entire face had lit up with that stunning smile that still took his breath away. In that moment, he had finally allowed himself to truly believe everything would work itself out in the end.

…

Sara was weak; there was no doubt about it. She struggled with tasks as simple as sitting up, feeding herself and rolling over on the bed. Thistle had been in to determine pain levels, healing rates, range of motion and to help put together a physical therapy plan that would help Sara regain the strength she needed for basic movement, particularly in her arms and upper body while she was restricted to bed rest. After nearly three weeks of complete inactivity, muscular atrophy had set in, despite the stretching and massage techniques employed by the medical staff while Sara was unconscious.

"If it wasn't for her leg, we would be trying to get her on her feet and walking as soon as possible," Thistle explained to him after she and the therapists had conferred at length and Sara, exhausted yet again by all the testing, had gone back to sleep. "Some gentle walking after hysterectomy is encouraged, but she absolutely mustn't put any weight on that leg, and even if she could, the knee would give out." She sighed in frustration and looked him over carefully.

"How are you doing?" she asked.

"Pretty good really," he noted, truthfully. "The pain is a lot more manageable, and I've slept well every night since I've been home. Greg is keeping me in line." Thistle snorted with laughter and glanced over at Greg who was chatting with the physical therapist who was demonstrating the massage technique for him.

"Yeah, I have no trouble believing that," she grinned. "Well, we'll continue with the massage and stretching in her healthy leg; you and Greg can help with that. We'll do so simple resistance stuff, to build her up again while she heals. The same with her upper body; she's got pretty good function in her right arm and I expect she'll start regaining strength and movement quickly there."

"And her left arm?" asked Grissom. Thistle pursed her lips and shook her head slightly.

"Not so much," she allowed. "They took the drain out of her shoulder two days ago, correct?"

Grissom nodded.

"Yeah. Henry said this morning that the infection is completely gone now." With the move out of ICU Doctor Henry Wheeler was now the primary physician in charge of Sara's care at night, and Doctor MacAndrew during the day.

"True," agreed Thistle, "but the infection was centered in that shoulder, she's incredibly lucky she didn't lose the arm. It's going to be more like building up her damaged leg than just returning strength like in her other arm."

"Right" sighed Grissom, watching his wife sleep, completely unaware of the conversation surrounding her. Thistle smiled at him, and then nodded briskly, handing him a sheaf of information.

"Patience," she ordered cheerfully. "She'll get there; it's just going to take a while. The rule of thumb is five days rehabilitation for every day in a coma. It may take Sara a little more than that because of the infection and the fever, but she will get better. Just remember what it felt like when Jenni made you get out of bed and start walking. How long did you think it was going to take you hmm? And how long did it actually take in the end? Not nearly the decades you were predicting, was it? Yes it's going to take Sara longer than you, but stop with all the over exaggerating. I've read some of your work; I know you have a brain. Start using it." Grissom snorted with laughter at her frank assessment of his worrying.

"Jenni said something very similar to me," he told Thistle. She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Good. Why didn't you listen? That girl has a first rate mind; I've been trying to convince her to become a surgeon since the day I met her."

"Seriously?" Thistle nodded.

"Indeed. It does no good though; she's studying psychology, trying to find links with that massage technique of hers. It's very impressive stuff; her trials have had amazing results. There was a woman here who was the victim of a mugging that went very wrong; she had recurrent nightmares and PTSD symptoms that were so bad they had to keep her partially sedated all the time until Jenni worked her magic. I imagine when Sara is more aware and a lot less tired she and Jenni will have a lot to talk about."

"You've read some of Sara's work too?" asked Gil, thinking of a paper Sara had published last year about the effects of a breaking and entering that had similar consequences not only for the victim, but also the perpetrator.

"Some?" asked Thistle, one chiseled eyebrow rising archly. "Try all, Grissom." He stared at her and she laughed, picked up her notes and waved goodbye as she slipped out the door.

…

Physiotherapy was tough, and for days Sara kept falling asleep halfway through the sessions, needing hours of rest before she could open her eyes again. In the afternoons, the occupational therapist came to see her, working skills necessary to daily life, while at the same time building muscle tone and strength in her weakened body.

After a week, Grissom sat beside the bed watching as Janine spread a deck of cards face down on the table. It was essentially a game of pairs; Sara had to turn them over two at a time and match them up. All week he had watched, uneasy and disturbed, as she consistently hit a fifty percent match rate when in the past she would have beaten anyone who challenged her to a game.

It had been something of a running joke in the lab over the years, getting new employees to take her on with the deck of cards Lindsey Willows had left there as a child. There was a particularly memorable incident in which Hodges accused her of cheating and the entire shift had laughed him out of the room.

Now he watched as she matched fifty percent of the cards and then began to struggle again, picking the wrong selections again and again. She growled with frustration and shifted irritably against the pillows that propped her up behind the table slid up to her chest. Angrily she tapped two cards and Janine turned them over for her, revealing a non-match. The longer the game went on, the more tired she became and the less control she had over the dexterity in her good arm, meaning someone had to start helping her with the cards. She scowled at them, her mind ticking as she tapped two others and Janine revealed another non-match.

"Oh my god," said Greg suddenly, sitting bolt upright in his chair at the bottom of the bed. "I know what the problem is." Grissom, Sara and Janine all stared at him as he stood up and grabbed a magazine from the cabinet. He flipped through the pages to an article and then put it on top of the cards, pointing with his finger as he looked at Sara.

"Read this to me," he said, as she stared at him, puzzled.

"Greg," she muttered tiredly, staring down at the paper and squinting at the fuzzy black lines. "I can't," she muttered, putting her head back against the pillow and closing her eyes.

"What are you doing?" asked Grissom, beginning to get annoyed.

"She can't see the differences," explained Greg triumphantly. He pointed the stack of matched cards. "These are all very distinct pictures, but these," he indicated the cards Sara couldn't match up, "are all somewhat similar pictures. It's the details," he explained, elated at his discovery. "She needs reading glasses."

…

Greg was right; an ophthalmologist with a gap in his schedule came up to see her at six that evening and confirmed, through a long, exhaustive and extremely thorough exam, that Sara did indeed need reading glasses. The cause was most likely the head injury during the actual crash, and not an aftereffect of the fever and raging infection. As the process of determining her prescription drew on Sara felt the long day pulling on her like a deadweight being dragged below the surface of the ocean and into the depths. Fatigue, a lack of sufficient sleep, the inability to control her body exactly as she wanted to and the fact that she hadn't been able to see Rowen that day because of the extra testing made her irritable and grumpy as the eye doctor finished up his work.

"One last time," he cajoled gently, as she tried to determine which eye was clearer as she looked through two different lenses.

"That one," she grumbled at last, before laying her head back and shutting her eyes, effectively ending the conversation. Within seconds she was asleep.

"I'm sorry," sighed Grissom apologetically to the specialist. "She's not normally so irritable. It's been a long day."

"Nonsense," grinned Doctor Thomas Dale, "I'm amazed she was able to stay awake for the whole thing. Now, these," he rummaged in a bag he had brought with him and produced a pair of glasses, "will do temporarily. I'll come back tomorrow so she can pick out frames and we can get her own pair ordered. When would be the best time?"

"The OT comes at three," said Greg, dropping the book he had been reading onto the end of the bed. "She's usually pretty awake before that starts, but as you can see, therapy makes her tired and cranky."

"Excellent, I'll come up at two thirty then," nodded the doctor. He glanced at Greg as he began to put his tools back in their respective bags. "I understand you are the one who realized Sara's problem was visual?" Greg shrugged.

"Yeah, I realized the pairs she couldn't match were always the same half of the deck and that they all have similar characteristics that would be hard to differentiate between if they were blurry."

"Well done," congratulated Dale, "you've probably just saved her a lot of aggravation with her recovery." Greg shrugged again, raising his hands slightly as he smiled fondly at Sara snoozing away, her mouth slightly open.

"Why didn't she say something?" asked Grissom, voicing a thought that had been bothering him for the last few hours. "If she couldn't see the cards properly, why didn't she just say so?" Doctor Dale pursed his lips and ran a hand over the clasp of his case and he latched it shut.

"She probably didn't realize," he replied, picking up a pen he had dropped on the blanket. "It's not that uncommon for patients who have had head trauma not to realize their senses are impaired. Her brain is still settling down from all the drama; think of it like a big earth quake, it takes time for the ground to settle back into stability after an event like that. There are aftershocks and surface damage to deal with, but eventually everything is cleaned up and restored or rebuilt. I really wouldn't worry about it; we know what the problem is now and we can solve it. Have a good evening, and I'll see you both tomorrow afternoon." He nodded to the both, and strode out of the door."

…

"I really don't know how I'm ever going to thank Mrs. Wallis," sighed Grissom happily as he helped Greg clean up the remains of yet another highly appetizing dinner. Greg laughed and leaned down to grab a ball that was causing a disagreement between Romeo and Juliet; he confiscated the toy and filled their dishes, occupying their attention elsewhere.

Grissom twitched his sling into a more comfortable position and then returned the leftovers to the fridge. Shutting the door, his gaze fell on the calendar there and it dawned on him he had no clue what day it was.

"Hey Greg," he called across the room, "what day is it today?"

"The eighth of October," replied Greg, straightening up from wrestling Lucy away from Hank's dish.

"Has it really been twenty-three days?" Grissom muttered to himself, staring at the date. He looked up suddenly, a thought occurring to him. "You're going home tomorrow," he said sadly. Greg shook his head.

"I was, but I called Catherine a couple of days ago and asked for another week; I have the time accrued." They made their way into the living room and sat down.

"Not that I don't really appreciate you being here, but doesn't she need you back?" asked Grissom, a slight frown nestled in his brows. Greg let out a long sigh and leaned back into the sofa, resting his head back on the cushion.

"I don't think she really cares right now," he replied freely, "and to be honest, I really don't want to be there at the moment either."

"Why?" asked Grissom, shocked. Greg was quiet for a moment, reflecting.

"Do you remember your last case?"

"Of course, the Dick and Jane Killer."

"Right! Well Haskell came back on the scene; he escaped and fixated on Langston."

"What happened?" asked Grissom, sitting upright and watching Greg carefully.

"Langston killed him."

"What?" whispered Grissom. Greg nodded miserably.

"Yeah. It was probably justified, but not the way he did it. Catherine and Brass covered it up as self-defense for the IA investigation." They fell silent, Grissom astounded and Greg still saddened by the events.

"They covered up murder?" asked Gil, unable to believe it. Greg sighed again, running his fingers through his messy hair.

"Haskell was messing with Ray big time; he kidnapped Ray's ex-wife and tortured her, and Langston played right into his hands. Haskell deserved to die, I don't doubt that, but I still don't think Ray had the right to kill him." Gil stared at him, absolutely stunned. "It's a mess Griss, a long, drawn out mess and it's made the lab look bad and screwed up half the people that work there."

"What's happening now?" asked Grissom, stroking Juliet soothingly as she climbed into his lap. Greg shrugged hopelessly.

"Catherine and Nick have been demoted; there's a new supervisor starting in a couple of weeks. Like I said, Catherine really doesn't care at the moment; she's too mad! So I'm here for another week. And I'd really rather not think about work, if you don't mind. Me being here is as good for me as it is for you to have me looking after you."

Grissom laughed at that omission, and agreed. He suppressed a yawn and indicated the chessboard; Greg grinned at the invitation and began to rearrange the pieces. Chess was a challenge he could thoroughly enjoy. He was debating his first move when Romeo sauntered up to him and sprawled across his lap, purring gently and comforting Greg into a blissful state of relaxation, pushing all the unpleasant thoughts right out of his mind.

...

...

Ok, so I know I've bent the timeline here just a little bit, but I wanted to keep the lab moving in the background. (And I'll admit, I never really liked Ray that much...) Also, I just couldn't let Greg go home yet, not until Sara is a little stronger.

I hope you're still enjoying the journey; I'm so in love with this story and the way it has unfolded. It has turned into so much more than I was expecting when I dreamt up the original idea. Please keep reviewing; I do treasure them so.

Happy reading and writing,

Got Tea?


	42. Chapter 42

He had thought his fight to regain strength and independence had been difficult, but as the days passed he began to understand that for Sara this was not going to be such an easy ride. He remembered the days and hours of nausea and ferocious headaches as he struggled, at first just to sit for a few minutes at a time, after waking up in Jenni's care with more clarity than he cared for. The pounding behind his temples that increased by magnitudes each time he so much as twitched a muscle, and the agony in his ribs as he tried to find a comfortable way to lie in bed so that each breath didn't feel like a hot poker was jabbing through his torso.

Now though, as he watched Sara struggle, sweat and fight her way through every second of physiotherapy he wondered if his situation could even be compared with hers. She was so weak she couldn't hold her arms out in front of her for a full minute. Her grip was frail, she barely left an indentation on the stress ball clutched between her fingers, and she couldn't sit fully upright unassisted without toppling sideways or back into her pillows. She had vertigo, constant nausea and a headache that had yet to ebb; remnants from the concussion that was still not fully resolved.

She looked ill too. True she had regained much of the color she had lost to the fever, but she was still pale, bruising easily and almost gaunt with the weight loss. Her shoulder bones and ribs were starkly visible, as were the bones in her hands and arms. Her good knee was knobbly, the bad one still swollen. She had circles around her eyes so dark it looked as thought she'd never slept, yet she did most of the day and all of the night.

Her morning sponge bath routine was exhausting, and she'd learned to sleep through it, conserving her energy for physio. Gil had been steadily and smoothly applying moisturizer for her every day and the dryness of her skin was slowly dissipating with the caring attention. What wasn't leaving was the exhaustion, which Jenni had warned would likely take her weeks to get over, if not longer.

"She's been through massive trauma Grissom," she had explained gently as he stood in the hallway, frustrated with how well therapy wasn't going. "She will get better, I promise. It's just going to take time and a lot of patience."

Doctors MacAndrew and Thistle had been carefully managing her pain medication, determined not to let her suffer any more than necessary in order to hopefully speed up the recovery. Some days he wasn't sure if it was working, but then he was admittedly having a difficult time with the whole situation.

Sara herself was grimly pushing on, fighting tooth and nail to achieve whatever goals and tasks were set before her. He had been awed for years at her ability to push past adversity; now he was stunned with her steely determination and rebellious attitude to the physical restraints the accident had placed on her body. She simmered with anger at her inability to do simple things, and consequently worked herself into exhaustion daily, sleeping for hours after each session with Gwen.

Emotionally she was grumpy, irritable and angry more often than not, something both he and Greg had noticed within days of her waking up. Gil and Doctor MacAndrew had discussed this departure from her normal sunny disposition with care. It was likely, Ian had said, that the exhaustion, pain and frustration were the cause, which would resolve as Sara progressed. It was not out of the bounds of possibility however, that the head trauma had caused symptoms in line with a mental health condition of some kind, in which case they could certainly help her. The thing to do for the moment was wait and see if she improved on her own. It was certainly not rare, the doctor kindly explained, for a brain that had received the kind of traumatic shock Sara's had to need some kind of pharmacological aid to help with recovery. As he sat in his chair next to her bed, Grissom wondered how many more complications and reactions they would have to face.

…

Shortly after lunch on Tuesday afternoon Doctor Dale returned, producing a small box from his pocket containing Sara's new reading glasses. He gently put them on her and they all admired the dark brown plastic frames and sleek, stylish lenses for a moment. Then he removed them and Sara watched curiously as he used a kit of miniature tools to make a few adjustments to the frames before resettling them over her nose, standing back and smiling.

"They suit you," he complimented her. "I think you made a very good choice with them."

"Looking good Sar," grinned Greg, who lounged at the foot of the bed. "Shall we see if they work?" He held up the deck of matching cards and glanced at the doctor, who nodded in agreement. Sara agreed enthusiastically, and waited impatiently as he set up the deck in five rows of ten on her table and then slid it close enough to her that she could reach. She had enough stamina to play about three games turning the cards herself. After that her hands would tremble too much and she would need help until she'd had another nap.

Grissom scooted closer to look as she began to turn the cards, matching pairs as rapidly as her physical movement would allow. If she had seen a card once, she matched it as soon as she found the pair, never making a mistake. Turning over the last pair she grinned triumphantly at the three of them.

"Wow," observed Doctor Dale. "Your memory is absolutely remarkable Sara."

"It's getting better," she shrugged. "And now I can see; it's wonderful. I have no reason for getting any of them wrong again," she declared. She looked at Greg with a hopeful expression. He laughed and scooped up the cards, resetting the table for her. Her dexterity wasn't good enough to allow her to shuffle the cards yet, and she frequently dropped the lot when she tried to handle to whole pack at the same time.

"Thanks," she told his as he placed the last card down for her; she immediately started matching again, finishing the game even faster than she had the last time.

"That was four seconds faster," Gil told her as she turned the last two and looked up. Another game and Greg had to start helping her turn the cards, two more and she slid off to sleep as he revealed the last pair. Gil gently removed the glasses and put them back in their case, thanking Doctor Dale.

"It's my pleasure," he replied, impressed with Sara's determination and accuracy. "You certainly have your hands full helping her." Greg and Grissom glanced at each other and smirked.

"We do indeed," Gil answered him, leaning over to kiss Sara on the forehead.

"And we wouldn't have it any other way," said Greg, gathering the cards and returning them to their packet.

…

Much later, as evening drew in and the sky darkened the three of them made their way to the NICU with Victoria, the nurse who covered Jenni's days off. Shawna was there to greet them and share some good news.

"Her weight is up by just over an ounce," she announced cheerfully. "It doesn't sound like much, but it is great news. Her numbers are continuing to creep up slowly too," she added, pointing to the respiratory monitors. Seeing the difference in oxygen saturation, they all smiled.

They sat for a while, until it was obvious Sara was in a lot of discomfort and about to fall asleep again. They said their goodbyes and promised to be back the next day; as they were leaving, Shawna gave them all a reason to smile. If Rowen kept improving at the rate she was, they would be able to hold her soon.

…

Waking from the sound sleep she kept plummeting into every time her eyes closed Sara lay in bed and stared at the ceiling. It was late she knew, Gil and Greg had long since left for the evening. Her leg and hips ached fiercely, and she groped for the button to call Joan who came with a sympathetic smile and an armload of pillows. She helped Sara roll onto her side and propped pillows behind her back and around her legs; the new position meant the agony began to subside quickly. Sara sighed in relief.

"That feels much better, huh honey," soothed Joan, tugging another blanket over the bed.

"It really does, thank you," agreed Sara.

"You feel like some Jell-O?" asked Joan, checking the monitors and scribbling on the chart at the bottom of the bed.

"Ok, I'll give it a try," Sara returned, sighing again as she warmed cozily under the extra blanket. This was becoming a nightly ritual for the two of them; for three days now Sara had woken around this time in a lot of pain, Joan had resettled her and brought Jell-O in hopes of her patient keeping something down.

"You want the purple one again honey?"

"Yes please," smiled Sara.

"Sure thing, I'll be back in a few." Joan walked out of the room and Sara let her head fall to rest on the pillows, closing her eyes and concentrating on relaxing her sore muscles. She was just starting to feel better when she heard footsteps in the doorway; she peered through the gap in the bed rail, thinking Joan had made it back in record time and felt a warm smile creep across her face when she saw Candy standing there, looking hesitant.

"Hello," Sara said softly, "how are you?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" replied Candy, stepping into the room and over to the bed, her hesitancy gone now she could see Sara was awake.

"You could," agreed Sara, "but it would make for gloomy conversation, and I could do with something a lot more cheerful. Tell me about university." Candy grinned and dumped her coat over the back of the chair, dragging it right up to the side of the bed before plonking herself down in it and bringing her legs up into a tailor seat.

"It's amazing, I absolutely love it. My classes are really engaging and I have a hilarious roommate. Her name is Ksenia, she's originally from Russia and she's totally hyperactive- she always has to be doing something. She runs about eight miles every day, and she's taken to taking me with her. I swear I'm going to be in the best shape of my life soon. And then she decided to bake cookies at six o'clock this morning, so I had to help her otherwise she would have burned the place down. We've had some very strange kitchen experiments thus far; blue vegetable soup, lime green muffins and we had peppermint and cranberry flavored porridge for breakfast yesterday."

Candy continued to regale Sara with tales dorm life, Ksenia's culinary disasters and the interesting people she had met both in her classes and on campus. When Joan returned, she heard her patient laughing as she approached the room and could not help but smile at the musical sound.

"Interesting visiting hours that you keep," she said to Candy, her voice without a trace of disapproval. Candy glanced at the clock, which read well after eleven pm, with a guilty grin. "Just remember others are sleeping," Joan continued, "and you can stay as long as you like. That was the first time I've ever heard Sara laugh; I would very much like to hear it again." She turned to her patient and placed a pot of purple Jell-O before her.

"Here you go," she pried off the lid and handed over a spoon. "Do you think you can keep it down tonight?" Sara grimaced.

"I'd like to," she shrugged warily, "but what I'd like and what actually happens are seemingly very different things recently." She took a tiny amount and slipped it into her mouth, savoring the taste of something that wasn't water or vomit. Joan paced a cardboard emesis basin on the bed within easy reach and checked the call button was where it should be.

"Are you comfortable enough?" Joan asked Sara.

"Yes thank you," nodded Sara.

"Ok, you two enjoy yourselves; call me if you need anything honey," said the nurse as she left.

"Why do you need that?" asked Candy, pointing to the basin. "I thought you were allowed to eat real food again?" Sara grimaced and took another slow, savory taste of Jell-O.

"I can eat," she agreed. "But it all comes back up again after about half an hour."

"Gross," said Candy bluntly. Sara nodded and ran a finger over the nasogastric tube that was taped to her left cheek.

"Yeah; I'm slowly becoming rather fond of this purple flavor." She stared into her Jell-O pot with a longing look and took another tiny bite.

"You're addicted to Jell-O?" Candy's eyebrows rose in disbelief.

"Purple Jell-O," said Sara with a resigned sigh. "It doesn't taste so bad when it comes up again."

"That's disgusting," muttered Candy.

"There's not a lot else to enjoy around here," grumbled Sara, her eyes glazing as she stared angrily into some middle distance point invisible to Candy. "I get given a sponge bath, which is exhausting and I get poked, prodded and other unmentionable things done to me on a daily basis, by people I don't really know, all of which are also exhausting. I do therapy, which is even more exhausting, and horribly painful. I sleep a lot, which is boring. I talk to Gil and Greg sometimes; mostly they talk and I listen. We practice therapy, which is exhausting and painful. Sometimes I get to go and see my baby, but I can't touch her, can't hold her, can't feed her. I feel like a prisoner, a dirty prisoner. The germs here must be out of control. I'm trying really hard not to imagine what an ALS would pick up in this room alone. I would really, really like a proper shower or a bath, but I can't sit up all the way without getting frightful headaches. So instead I just lie here and hope this nightmare ends at some point. I would really like to wake up soon. Or at least have enough energy to get through a day without needing a dozen naps to recover from the last activity endured while just lying here."

She stopped her rant abruptly when hot tears began to trickle down her cheeks. Furious at her stupid overreaction Sara swiped her spoon through the pot and took a large mouthful, swallowing it quickly. Another mouthful followed, and then another until all the Jell-O was gone. She stared into the pot, her stomach churning, eyes burning, and her heart a tangled mess of confusion and uncertainty. Her vision blurred by tears she resented, she spoke without filters.

"I've been told it's as scientifically close to a miracle as possible that I'm still alive. I shouldn't have come out of that first surgery, but Doctor Fielding refused to let me go. I definitely shouldn't have lived through the fever; Doctor Blackman said she's never had a patient survive a body temperature that high for that long. So I should be grateful to be here, but all I can manage is anger. Seething, furious rage at this stupid situation."

Candy felt a knot in her chest come loose as understanding dawned and Sara's words made sense. Abandoning her chair, she skirted the bottom of the bed and climbed up beside her friend, mindful of her healing wounds, and wrapped her into a comforting embrace. How long has it been, she wondered, since someone she loves was able to just wrap her up in a hug and hold her? Sara was warmth, happiness, tranquility, calm under pressure, passionate, loving and supremely logically ordered. As Sara leaned into her arms Candy could feel, in the tension that permeated her entire body, that the intrusion of a constant stream of other people into her friend's currently pain ridden, confused and illogical circumstances was overwhelming her past the point that she could deal with.

"It's ok," she murmured soothingly, "I know it sucks right now, but it is going to get better, I promise. And it is absolutely fine to be angry at the world; I would be too if I was in your situation. I'm angry for you, and I'm in my shoes." Against her shoulder there was a hiccupping snort that made Candy smile.

"Personally though," she continued, her fingers gently rubbing Sara's back, "I think angry is a good thing. It means you're thinking and feeling and experiencing, which is a lot better than all that time you spent in a coma when no one knew when or if you were going to wake up. And all that time, I had to wonder, what would it be like if you did wake up? You know me, like my mother always says, I have way too much imagination; well I had all these awful thoughts about what might happen when you woke up, like maybe you wouldn't remember anything, or be the same, or… or, I don't know, I just kept dreaming up horrible scenarios. So I'm quite happy with angry, because eventually anger goes away and life moves forward. So hang in there, ok? I'm here, Griss is here, Greg's here and Rowen is here too, and we've all got your back."

They were quiet for a long time, Sara leaning heavily into her friend's shoulder and Candy tracing light, relaxing and nonsensical patterns on Sara's back with idle fingers as she hummed under her breath. She was just beginning to think Sara had gone to sleep when she heard a quiet, but heartfelt

"Thank you," murmured against her shirt.

"You're so welcome," she replied honestly as Sara began to sit up. She slid off the bed and pushed a pillow into the space where she had been sitting so Sara wouldn't topple over. Looking up she saw a green tinge wash over Sara just as a bony hand made a lethargic grab for the basin. Knowing what was coming, Candy clenched her teeth and thrust the cardboard under Sara's chin as she heaved. A watery purple mess splattered into the container as Candy's stomach rolled. Sara spat and pulled a face, groping for a tissue to wipe her lips.

"It's not so bad," she reassured Candy, noting the expression on her face. "The purple one really doesn't taste that bad the second time around." Candy gagged, fumbled for the box of purple goo, missed, and vomited onto the blankets. For a moment Sara gawked at her; when Candy looked up and their eyes met, a sheepish expression sprawled across her features, Sara's mouth fell open. Without warning she burst into laughter, a deep rolling sound of true mirth worked its way up through her chest and she gasped, clutching her ribs as she mopped her eyes on her sleeve. Candy ran a hand through her turquoise and violet hair and felt her own treacherous lips twitch as a grin of part mortification, but mainly amusement, lit up her face.

…

…

To everyone still following this story, thank you for not giving up. I hope, even with all the interruptions, it is still as enjoyable to you as it is to me. If you have only just found it, the same a applies in terms of enjoyment. Please take a moment to let me know what you think; the next chapter is already underway, as is Ethereal Theory's next instalment. Many thanks, as always, Got Tea?


	43. Chapter 43

After their late night shenanigans with vomit, laughter and tears, Candy ended up falling asleep in the bedside chair as Sara resumed slumber in the bed she so desperately wanted to leave. It was in those positions that Grissom and Greg found them when they arrived in the morning, both women having slept heavily and not so much as twitched at shift change. Gil smiled and lowered himself gently into a chair, propping his arm, sling and all, on a pillow in his lap; Greg shook his head and outright snickered at the pair of them, especially Candy who was sprawled sideways with her colourful hair splayed across the arm and her mouth slightly open as she snored softly.

Gil settled with the morning paper and Greg reached for the book he had left the day before, wincing as it slipped out of his fingers and crashed to the floor. Candy stretched like a cat stirring from a nap, and opened her eyes with a yawn. Sara opened a bleary eye, peered through the bed rail at him, gave a tiny wave, and promptly went back to sleep, not yet refreshed enough. Glancing at the clock Greg noted they were earlier than usual. Mentally placing the blamed on Juliet, who had started a war with Lucy just after six thirty, he grinned at Candy as she rubbed her eyes and slithered into an upright position.

"Nice snooze?" he asked.

"Excellent," she replied. "This is an outrageously comfy chair for a hospital."

"Agreed," nodded Greg. Candy stood, picked up her bag and vanished into the bathroom, emerging with clean teeth and combed hair just as Jenni arrived for morning routine. Griss put aside his paper to help coax Sara through it, if she chose to wake up, and Greg stood to leave for a while.

"You hungry?" he asked Candy as she said goodbye and made for the door.

"Famished," she declared, following him out.

"Let's go get some breakfast; there's a good diner not far from here that I've taken to frequenting at this time of day." Candy laughed at his implication.

"So mornings really are as bad as I've heard?" she asked as they walked out to the parking lot.

"Worse," he sighed, "if she's awake. Now she's learned to sleep through it, it's better, but she doesn't like waking up after either and they keep trying to get her to eat and she just can't keep anything down."

"I know that," said Candy wryly, producing her keys and offering to drive.

…

The diner was busy with morning patrons but they found a table and ordered, settling back into their booth seats with quiet contentedness as coffee arrived and they sipped with relief.

"So, what are you doing back here in the middle of the week?" asked Greg as he put his mug back on the table.

"I had nothing on today, and I miss my dog," shrugged Candy, stirring sugar into her coffee. "I wanted to see Sara too."

"I have a dog," said Greg, reaching for his phone and pulling up a picture of the Jack Russell.

"He's cute," laughed Candy, examining the picture of Greg's pet sprawled across his basket, paws hanging over the edge. "What's his name?"

"Gizmo," Greg swiped his finger over the screen and showed Candy another photo. "I got him from a woman I met outside a bookstore; said she loved him, but she had to move and was desperate to find a new home for him. I couldn't say no, not when he looked at me with those eyes."

"Who has him now?" asked Candy, enchanted by the photos.

"My neighbour is looking after him for me; she's totally in love with him, and he's totally in love with all the extra treats and toys."

"Lucky little guy," grinned Candy, pulling out her own phone to show Greg photos of Sammie. "Have you always wanted to be a CSI?" she asked after a few minutes. Greg looked up at her, startled by the abrupt change of topic. She shrugged.

"I've been wondering for a while what makes someone want to do that for a living. I asked Sara why she did, and she said she went to a conference on forensics, and never looked back." Greg snorted.

"Yeah, I'll bet," he laughed. Candy raised an eyebrow and Greg pinched his lips together to stop laughing before explaining. "Sara met Grissom at that conference. He was a speaker, and she was a grad student working for the San Francisco Coroner."

"Ohhh," murmured Candy, her own smirk spreading across her features. She laughed aloud and sat back in her seat, reaching for her coffee.

"I started as a lab rat; I studied Chemistry at Stanford. I watched Grissom and Sara and the rest of the team for years and wanted to be part of it. Griss let me start CSI training; Sara was my primary mentor. I've learned a lot from her."

"That's mutual," nodded Candy. "Her brain scares me sometimes."

"I know that feeling," Greg picked up his knife and fork as their food arrived.

"Mmmm," hummed Candy, inhaling the warmly appetising scents surrounding them.

"So have you always wanted to be an artist?" Greg wanted to know.

"I can't remember ever wanting to be anything else. My earliest memories from when I was a child are all art related."

Greg swallowed a mouthful of scrambled eggs and toast, remembering something.

"When I was a kid, I wanted to write a comic book more than anything," he told her.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I dreamt up my own superheroes, a group of teenagers who are unnoticed science nerds during the day, and kickass save-the-world protectors at night. I wrote a bunch of stories about them."

"So why not write the book?" asked Candy, curious.

"I can't draw," admitted Greg. "I tried a bunch of times to make a likeness of what I imagined they would look like, but I'm more of a stick figure person." Switching her spoon to her left hand, Candy reached into her bag and pulled out a sketch book and a pencil. Flipping to a clean page, she said,

"Describe them to me," and began to draw.

…

A couple of hours, a lot of coffee and plenty of good food later Candy sat back in her chair and let Greg marvel over the quick sketches she had drawn and the test page of storyboard they had come up with, based on his recollections of the first plot he had dreamt up.

"This is amazing," he murmured, his fingers tracing over the pages they had placed side by side.

Candy had managed to perfectly capture his vision of what the three high school hero's looked like; Simon, Sebastian and Francesca were pictured multiple times in their school science laboratory, and again in their costumes, saving children and rescuing the world.

"It's so real," he mused.

"It's a rough draft," shrugged Candy, considering the drawings. "I can do full colour images with all the detail later." She looked at Greg as he poured over the characters he had imagined years ago; studying his excitement and awe, she found herself drawn into the magic of the concept.

"Do you want to try and do this?" she asked him. "Create an actual comic book?" Greg stared at her. "It would take a lot of work, and plenty of time, but we could make it happen. You have a few days left here; we can get the characters right before you go. When you get home, you can hunt down your old ideas and we can go from there."

"Las Vegas is a long way from New Hampshire," he gawked at her, struggling to keep up with this suddenly captivating new reality. Candy tilted her head to one side and raised her eyebrows.

"You ever hear of email? Skype? Cell phones have this wonderful feature called text messaging now too! Distance is only a physical thing; just because our bodies will be what, two and a half thousand miles away or so, that doesn't mean our minds can't meet in the same place." He continued to gape and Candy shrugged at him. "Hey if you don't want to, then that's your call. It's your idea, they're your characters." Greg swallowed hard and found his voice.

"I want to," he blurted out, before pausing to take a deep breath. "I mean," he said more slowly and with a sip of coffee to further calm himself, "that I would really like to see if we could make this work. I just needed a minute to catch up with you," he grinned when her eyebrows rose again. "You have sort of turned a long forgotten dream on its buried head in the space of a meal," he reminded her. Candy shrugged and laughed at him.

"There's no waiting for art," she told him dreamily. "Something says draw me and I do; right there and then." Greg smiled and watched as she pointed to the vase of fresh flowers on the table. "Like this," she said quietly. "See this bud here? Tomorrow, it will look like this," she told him, reaching for a clean page and a bright red pencil, quickly sketching and shading in a perfect flower.

"How do you know that?" he asked her, stunned.

"I spent two years of middle school obsessed with drawing flowers over the course of the seasons." She pulled the sketch out of her book and handed it to him. "Keep it; come back tomorrow and see if I was wrong." He took the paper and looked at the picture and then the bud resting atop its delicate stem, wondering. Candy excused herself and went in search of the restroom, having drunk a little too much coffee. Greg watched her go, and was strongly reminded of someone he couldn't put a name to, despite feeling that he should.

The waitress dropped off the bill as she passed with another table's drinks order and he stood up and made his way over to the counter to pay before Candy came back and protested him not splitting it with her. He couldn't believe that in the space of a few short hours she had shown him something he had believed dead along with his childhood. He thought back over the meal, the way she sat cross-legged on the bench seat with her papers spread out in front of her and her pencils lined up beside them; she could reach for the right one without looking for it, just like he knew where everything in his kit was without having to search for it.

She talked with him as she drew, extracting details from deep within the recesses of his memory as she sketched, occasionally reaching out her free hand for a bite of toast or a sip from her mug as she worked. It was the expression she wore as she worked that stayed with him though; equal parts joy, serenity and desire had radiated from her as she brought his characters out of his thoughts and into the real world. He couldn't remember the last time he had experienced anything like it.

Waiting for the woman in front of him to finish her transaction, he idly scanned the small racks and tubs of merchandise on display; nearly all of it was cheap and childish, the kind of items designed to attract small children and their parents. There was one item that caught his eye though, and he picked it up, examined it carefully and smiled, keeping it in his hand as the woman ahead left and he stepped up to the till.

…

"We need a bad guy," said Candy as they walked into the warm, late summer morning sun, heading for her car.

"Something not typical," mused Greg. Candy glanced at her watch.

"Do you like walking?" she asked.

"What?" her abrupt change of topic caught him off guard.

"Are you in a hurry to get back to the hospital?"

"Not really," he admitted.

"Ok, cool," she replied. "Let's go then."

"Go where?" he asked.

"One of my favourite places in the world; it's a park I go to for inspiration. But first, we need to get the dogs."

"We do?"

"Yes! I haven't seen Sammie in three days. Three days!" She practically screeched, before lowering her tone to a grumble. "Stupid dorm rules."

"Three days is a long time," agreed Greg hastily as they got in the car. Candy glanced sideways at him, one eyebrow raised. He grinned and raised his hands in defence; she broke into laughter and pulled out onto the street.

…

They had always conducted a large part of their life together in companionable silence, each taking joy in the close proximity of the other and not feeling the need to speak unnecessarily. Now though, Gil found himself starting to find the silence uncomfortable. True it seemed as though Sara was sleeping all the time, but when she was awake she seemed perfectly content to lie there saying nothing. And her lack of communication was beginning to make him feel uneasy. She responded appropriately when he spoke to her, or Greg asked her a question, but he had noticed she now almost never initiated conversation, and he worried.

Today she had slept through most of the morning routine, refusing to wake up and participate, not that he blamed her. There was little she could do except lie there and suffer through the pain. About half an hour after she had opened her eyes and glared at the day light, obviously still tired, but she had seen him and smiled, reaching out a frail hand to him, which he had taken in his and brought to his lips to kiss gently. She had smiled again and sighed warmly before letting her eyes slide shut as she squeezed his fingers gently and kept her fingers linked with his as he continued to read the paper and she dozed. Constant exhaustion was extremely wearing, and she was tiring of it rapidly.

Breakfast arrived and Sara scowled, but sat up and took a few hesitant bites, willing them to stay down. There was zero hope of her being released before she could feed herself orally, and exhaustion aside, she was dammed if she was staying here a moment longer than she had to. She managed twenty- one minutes before the tell-tale swirl of her stomach made her clench her fists in the blanket and scowl. Seconds later it all came back up again with a messy splatter; the nurse who had brought her food today had forgotten the bucket. She could need another gown change and more clean sheets. Sara growled her frustration and felt the hated tears spring to her eyes.

In seconds Gil was there, passing her a handful of tissues as he leaned down and pressed a tender kiss to the top of her head. He smoothed her hair away with gentle fingers and rubbed her shoulder soothingly, pressing the call button.

"It's ok," he tried to comfort her as she wiped her mouth with the tissues, her hands trembling. He brushed her tears away with tender fingers and rolled the table with its offending tray of food out of the way.

"No it's not," she sniffed, distraught. "I can't do anything; I'm going to be stuck here forever."

"Oh honey," he sighed, taking the used tissues and throwing them in the bin before dampening a towel for her to wash her hands and face. "I wish I could make it better for you," he murmured, rolling up the soaked blankets into a ball at the end of the bed. Her glasses had slipped off as she washed her face; he picked them up and inspected them for cleanliness, before perching them back on her face and smiling softly. "Beautiful," he murmured, resting his palm against her cheek and looking deep into her eyes, to make sure she knew he truly believed it. They had always been able to have an entire conversation with just a single look; now, seeing what he was telling her, Sara gave him a watery smile and tried to push away her gloom.

"I love you," she said quietly, lacing her fingers with his as he moved his hand down to hers. He grinned at her.

"I know. But," he winked at her, "I bet you don't love me as much as I love you," he teased; it was an old joke, and it worked. The closest he had seen to a true smile in days spread over her face as she let her shoulders relax back against the bed, the tension visibly leaving her body.

"Oh Sara, I'm so sorry," sighed McKenna as she walked in and saw the problem.

"It's alright," replied Sara calmly, still smiling at Gil. "Can I please just change and have more blankets? I'm getting cold."

"You bet," nodded McKenna, hurrying back out of the room and returning quickly with the linens. She quickly stripped away Sara's filthy old clothing and helped her into a new gown before slipping fresh blankets around her.

"How's that?" she asked as she finished tucking the bottom corners in.

"Good thanks," sighed Sara, happy to be comfortable again.

"I'm really sorry," repeated McKenna, as she double checked everything else was in order.

"It's ok," shrugged Sara. "It happens all the time. I'm getting used to it; I can't even remember what real food tastes like."

"Ugghh," grimaced McKenna, trying not to imagine. "Well, like I said, I'm ever so sorry. I can't believe I forgot the basin for you."

"It's fine," Sara shrugged, ready to brush the whole incident aside. "Really, no harm done," she added, looking at the young nurse. She frowned, seeing something like distress hidden in the young woman's features. "What's wrong McKenna?" she asked suddenly. The nurse shook her head, blinking.

"Nothing, everything's fine!" she protested quickly. Sara raised an eyebrow in that precise manner she had, letting her carer know in no uncertain terms she knew she was being lied to. McKenna knew it too, and caved, her face falling as her eyes filled with tears that she refused to let fall. "It's just a bad day," she sighed. "My cat, he needs surgery, but the vet said it's only fifty-fifty that he comes through it, and I've had him for ten years, ever since he was a kitten, and I love him to pieces and I don't know what I'll do without him if he…" She stopped and took a deep breath, again ordering the tears not to fall.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Sara, reaching out to take McKenna's hand as she settled on the edge of the bed.

"He was attacked last month. I don't know by what, but now he has a problem with his breathing. The vet said, if he doesn't fix it Felix won't live, but if he tries, there's only a half a chance he'll come through it."

"That's terrible," murmured Sara. "I'm so sorry to hear that." McKenna sniffed.

"I'm being silly really," she sighed. "He needs fixing up; the vet said he'll be fine if it works. I just hate seeing him in pain and not his normal cheerful self."

"It's not silly," soothed Sara. "Pets are just a much a part of a part of our lives as people, and it's just as horrible and distressing when something happens to them." She handed over a tissue before continuing. "We have two dogs, three cats, a fish and seven cockroaches, and I miss them all. Well, maybe not the roaches," she admitted, gaining a watery grin from McKenna, "but I'd give a lot to have them here with me, or better yet be home with them." McKenna took a deep breath and nodded, calming visibly under Sara's comforting influence.

Gil watched the entire interaction with interest, wondering how many times he had seen this behaviour from his wife before. In the past it had been victims and their families; more recently he had seen it with Candy and the other young women she worked with at the rescue centre. She really was going to make an amazing mother to Rowen, he thought, his chest tight with pride and love.

"When is he having the operation?" asked Sara.

"Tomorrow," sighed McKenna.

"Good luck," wished Sara. "Will you let me know how it goes?"

"Definitely," promised the nurse, her normal smile almost back in place as she left to attend to other patients. Gil smiled to himself and reached for the water jug, pouring them both a glass. Sara took the cup he handed her and stared pensively into it, rather than drinking.

"What's the matter?" he asked, frowning at her expression.

"Nothing," she mumbled, still staring into the cup.

"Something is bothering you," he prodded, not wanting to let her sit and stew. He was beginning to understand that fighting her changing moods was next to impossible, but if she was frustrated by something, it was generally best to try and get her to talk about it and see if there was something they could do to resolve it. The difficulties of getting her to open her thoughts to him though were compounded by her sudden dislike of talking, making the task inordinately more difficult that it should have been.

"I miss Socks," she said abruptly, when he continued to stare pointedly at her. "And Romeo and Hank and Juliet and Lucy. I miss sitting at the table watching Shakespeare. I miss all of them."

"And they miss you," he assured her. "Socks has just decided that she can come and say hello when I get home, but she won't sit on my lap or Greg's. She sits in the window mostly, looking morose and waiting for you."

Sara scowled at her water, her heart clenching as she thought about her beautiful, shy cat who had been coming out of her shell so wonderfully in the last few weeks prior to the accident. The anger was back again. It washed over her in a flash of hot, trembling rage, as quick as a snap of the fingers.

"I hate that man," she snarled, furious.

"I know," sighed Gil heavily. 'Here were go again,' he thought as he reached for his phone, hoping that if he showed her some recent photographs of their animals she might calm down before physio. He plucked her cup from her hands and set it aside.

"Look, I took this of Juliet last night." He held up his phone so she could see. "She tried to steal Greg's sandwich while he took forever debating his next chess move." Sara leaned forward to look at the image, and promptly lost her balance, toppling sideways. Fortunately he was already on his feet next to her and simply let her slide into him, wrapping his good arm around her in the best impression of a hug he could give with his other arm still strapped to his body.

He felt her grind her teeth in frustration at her utterly diminished core strength, and quickly kissed the top of her head, parking his backside on the bed next to hers and snuggling up as close as he could get so they could view the pictures together. Before she could become any more frustrated, he started flipping through the photos, finding one of Socks he had spent nearly ten minutes trying to take so he would have something to show her. When she relaxed against him, he breathed a sigh of relief and when she smiled and thanked him, he felt his heart squeeze; crisis averted momentarily.

…

Physio was a disaster almost from the start, and for the first time Sara was reduced to tears as she slogged determinedly through exercise after exercise, task after task. Everything hurt, her head was pounding, and her weakened muscles suddenly cramped up, her back going into spasm as her fingers curled involuntarily. Sara, normally so stoically silent about her pain, suddenly let out a cry that made Gil's blood run cold. Gwen abruptly ended their session, calling Doctor MacAndrew's pager directly, rather than pressing the bedside button.

The doctor came, assessed the situation with his practiced, penetrating calm stare, and administered a muscle relaxant with a sedative side-effect. As Sara slid away from them into the realm of slumber, he asked what had brought on the episode. Gwen walked him through what they had worked on, and then Ian looked at Gil, who shrugged helplessly.

"It's been a bad morning for the most part," he said, quietly resigned. "She's pretty upset and angry today. Breakfast was a messy affair." Ian nodded in understanding.

"I think this is probably just a stress overload reaction; she's tired, she's in pain, it's been a tough few days and all of that combined just pushed her too far. Don't get too disheartened," he advised kindly, "she's done amazingly well thus far, and she's still going to keep doing well. Sometimes she's just going to have a bad day. It's like sailing; you have to take the rough with the smooth I'm afraid."

"Is this going to happen again?" asked Gil, feeling defeated despite the words of encouragement. Ian shrugged, his head tilting to the side slightly.

"This is her first episode… maybe it will happen again. But the stronger she gets, the more the likelihood starts to drop. I'd say probably not, but if it does, it does. It's not going to hurt her in the long run. She might just be tired and uncomfortable later. Maybe she'll sleep better tonight too."

He took in the fraught expression of Gil's face.

"She'll sleep a while," he said. "Go take a walk to the cafeteria and get yourself something to eat and read your paper. You need to relax too." Grissom managed a smile at the friendly order and nodded in agreement. A change of scenery would do him some good, and so would something to eat.

…

Despite the sedative being a mild one, Sara slept for hours. Occupational Therapy was cancelled for the day; Janine stuck her head in and said hi, asking him how he was doing and sharing a few minutes of conversation before she moved on to another patient she had slotted in. Gil put aside the paper he had now read cover to cover and settled back in his chair, closing his eyes with a yawn. A nap of his own sounded like the perfect idea.

…

The NICU was quieter than usual that evening as the pair of them sat with Rowen, trying to let go of the pain and tension the day had born. Gil sat in a seat pushed right against the reclining wheelchair Sara was occupying, her hand clasped in his, her fingers resting against his lips as they watched.

Jenni stood across the room with Shawna, talking about the day.

"A bad one all around," she sighed, as the two watched Gil and Sara.

"It happens," murmured Shawna sadly. They watched Gil tilt his head toward Sara, his lips grazing her temple as his free hand moved to gently stroke her cheek, brushing aside locks of hair that curled wildly around her slowly relaxing features. Under his touch and whispered words, the two women watched as Sara took on a calmer demeanour, the stress of the last few hours slipping away as if it had never been there to mar her life at all.

"They are so good together," sighed Jenni with wondering admiration. "I've never seen a couple like them, ever." Shawna shook her head.

"Me either." She glanced at Jenni and smiled, a thought coming to her. "Do you want to help me with something?" she asked, thinking it was time. Jenni looked at her and lifted an eyebrow in question. When Shawna explained her plans, she felt a true smile crawl across her face for the first time in hours.

"Sara, we want to try something," said Shawna quietly as the two women approached the family.

"You need to stay very still," explained Jenni, "because I'm going to take your neck brace off."

"Ok," said Sara, warily, but she didn't move as Jenni did as she had said, and then gently moved the blankets away from her chest and loosened the ties on her hospital gown.

Gil gasped as he watched Shawna open the incubator, disconnecting some wires and tubes, and simply moving others before sliding her hands under Rowen's tiny body and lifting her gently out of the miniature bed.

"Skin to skin contact has proven very successful in aiding the progress of premature babies' recovery," she explained quietly as she tucked Rowen under the hem of Sara's gown, laying the baby directly onto Sara's chest and distributing the wires carefully out of the way.

Sara found she could say nothing as she felt the slight pressure and then the wondrously incredible feeling of her child resting against her. A touch so light it terrified her, yet at the same time one so familiar she felt as though she had known it her entire life. Her breath trembled on her lips as she raised a hand to rest it gently on the back of Rowen's head. She could not see her baby, but that held no matter because for the first time she was holding her, touching her, and she could think of nothing in the universe that could, or would, ever come close to that moment.

Gil stared in stunned awe at the incredible sight mere inches from his eyes. His hand slipped over Sara's, caressing her fingers before sliding around to trace the very tip of his finger over his daughter's cheek. She sighed under his touch, and he felt something in his chest come loose. He stroked her hand with his little finger, and felt tears fill his eyes when she curled her impossibly tiny fingers around his. His tears, hot and salty, dripped slowly onto Sara's neck and he felt her smile beside him as he let his head rest against hers, hip lips seeking her temple in the most tender of kisses.

Breathless with love, he pulled his head back slightly to stare at the two of them. Sara's eyes were closed and the expression on her face was so full of love and wonder that he didn't need to see into her gaze to know what she was thinking. He could feel it, a mirror image of his overwhelmed heart and soul. Rowen flexed her fingers; he looked down at her and watched as she tightened her grip, felling his vision blur with a fresh wave of tears. He sat, frozen by the moment, as feelings he had never thought he would know washed over him and left him truly stunned by the extraordinary magnificence of life.

...

...

I can only beg forgiveness for the terrible wait; all hell broke loose in mid February, and there just hasn't been the time. I refuse to give in though, and just hope this story is worth it. I have been waiting so long for the final scene of this chapter. Much love to all those still out there. GT?


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